


DIME and Place, But Not Now

by AmateurScribes



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: "Stop Please", "run!", Accidents, Alternate Universe, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Blackmail, Branding, Bullying, Buried Alive, Carrying, Chronic Pain, Collars, Defiance, Dimension Travel, Dirty Secret, Emotional Manipulation, Exhaustion, Explicit Language, Failed escape, Forced to beg, Graphic Description of Corpses, Headaches & Migraines, Held at Gunpoint, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Isolation, Kidnapped, Lost - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Oxygen mask, Paranoia, Phobias, Power Outage, Prompt Fic, Rescue, Sensory Deprivation, Shoot the Hostage, Sleep Deprivation, Slow Burn, Survivor Guilt, Trail of Blood, Waking up Restrained, Whumptober 2020, Withdrawal, abandoned, broken trust, disorientation, forced to their knees, manhandled, no more, reluctant bedrest, science gone wrong, wound reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 84,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: Grif didn't like being responsible foranything. Not work, not his partner Simmons, and sure as fuck not the safety of the denizens of multiple universes.He doesn't get much of a choice.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948522
Comments: 143
Kudos: 45





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Waking Up Restrained** | Shackled | Hanging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE!! Sorry about all the radio silence on this account, I got caught in college stuff and experimenting with some new fandoms on my second ao3, but I'm back again to bring you guys another Whumptober Event! This year I'm doing a continuous multi-chap fic, and I hope you guys enjoy it because I'm so excited! 
> 
> For the duration of this event, I will be editing everything myself, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; waking up restrained, violence_
> 
> **DISCLAIMER:** This story is meant to be read at the same time as the companion piece. Meaning that chapter 1 of this is supposed to be read at the same time as chapter 1 of the second fic. Ideally, you should be reading the DIME and Place chapters first, then DIMEcord. Information is revealed in both to help the viewing experience of this fic. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy the read!

If anyone asked Grif whether or not he liked his job, he would give them a firm and resounding, _fuck no._

In his opinion, you would have to be an absolute maniac to _enjoy_ working in the DIME Corps. _Especially_ if you were an Enforcement Officer. There was absolutely nothing pleasant about monitoring thousands upon thousands of different dimensions on a daily basis.

One couldn't even _apply_ to be a DIME Enforcement Officer either. They just fucking swooped you up, and then _boom_ you were saddled with the shittiest job in the multiverse. 

Grif thought he would have been lucky enough to _not_ get enlisted against his will into the DIME Corps. There was literally nothing remarkable about him- no caveats that most of the high-rankers had boldly paraded around like a fucking preening peacock, no awards or recommendations, no alumni status from an ivy league. Nothing. He was no one interesting, he was basically nothing. And he liked that. Made surviving through the day so much easier.

At least, that's what he thought until one day a letter appeared on the welcome mat to his apartment door. What he had shakily hoped wasn't so as he got a letter opener and swiped it against the outdated form of communication.

The apparently asinine hope as he crumpled the letter joyfully informing him of his- and he'll call it what it fucking was- _draft_ into the DIME Corps. That he had the honor of joining the ranks of the newly formed SIM Branch of Dimensional Enforcement.

That was when his life became a living hell. Not only was he stuck working as a fucking DIME Officer, but he literally had to change everything about his documentation. No longer was he just normal Dexter Grif, now he was SIM Enforcement Officer Grif-10. _Literally._ Whenever he had to look at his ID Card and see _SEO Grif-10_ in place of his name he has to hold himself back from throwing it onto the ground and saying _'fuck it'_ and get the hell out of this dimension into the next. 

The rational part of his brain that always wins reminds him that that would only make him an enemy of DIME instead, and if he thought he hated working for DIME then he would hate being incarcerated by them even _more._

But he could do it if he wasn't such an incompetent fuck up, there's no question about that. He wouldn't have even needed to sneak into the DIME Corps facilities to get access to locked-in portals.

He was a DIME _Pilot._

Upon initial drafting, he was swiftly brought to the medical building and put through surgery. Not every DIME Enforcement Officer was a Pilot. Only a small percentage of them was because the process was still in the developmental phases. There wasn't any danger associated with the surgery- not that he would be told if there _was-_ but at the moment Pilot's couldn't handle bringing more than one other person with them. The strain would be too much to handle, and they'd probably explode or something.

They attached the cold exoskeleton to his body, connected it with his nerves, and slapped him on the back as they sent him to the dorms that he was going to live in now as his body started to shake and burn under the pain.

Grif was the only Pilot in the Residential Enforcement Division of the SIM Branch. Everything about DIME was excessive with long names that were too over-specific, and when no one important was listening, he and the other SEO's would just shorten it. Colonel Sarge-10 was particularly zealous about proclaiming their small group as the RED's and developed a superiority complex about it that made him hate their sister-group Borough, Lakes, and Uplands Enforcement- which they shortened to just BLUE.

Another thing he hated about the DIME Corps was their insistence on puns and rhyming. It was obnoxious. He hated every insistence on having the number ten as a motif- that was the only reason why he had to legally change his name to Grif-10. In fact, he hated the fact that SIM was pronounced _sime._ Literally, _why._ There was no need. All it served to do was bring him back to his high school pre-calc class, hearing the teacher remind them for the tenth- _dammit now even he was doing it too-_ time that it wasn't pronounced as sin, but sine, even if it was written the _exact same way._

Like he said- excessive and obnoxious. That's how he would describe his experience in the DIME Corps for literally anyone who would fucking ask.

But given all this, Grif could passionately say that you could hold a gun to his head, and demand that he proclaim his love for the organization, and he would simply say to pull the goddamn trigger.

And as he wakes up, head groggy and temples pounding in pain as the sharp artificial lighting of the storage room that he and Simmons were patrolling strained his eyes-

He stared down the barrel of a gun and wondered if that very scenario would come true today.

There's a very tall and buff man on the other side of the gun, and he looks like one mean motherfucker with a nasty 'x' scar across the bridge of his nose, and Grif can only vaguely recall him. Which isn't good. The only people that he can recognize these days is the foggy and faint memories of his mother and Kaikaina, his other SEO's, and-

He gulps as quietly as he can when realizing that he's facing down a Dimensional Criminal. One who, given the state of his dress, has just recently broken out of confinement.

He's heavily restrained in some experimental metal body wires that were meant to be used on criminals, not officers, Simmons a heavy weight against his back, and given the lack way his head is reclined against Grif's, he knows that his fellow SEO isn't awake. The wires dig deeply into his uniform, and he's grateful for it because he's sure if he was wearing something more casual, his arms would be red and sore for how tightly restrained he is.

It's not until he calls out, "Felix, one of the SEO's has woken up. Would you hurry _up,"_ that Grif realizes who he is.

Locus-X and given that he just spoke out that must mean Felix-Z was here too.

Oh _fuck._

"Relax would you?" Felix-Z saunters over, carrying a long metallic case with him as he kicks around a few others laying on the ground. He too is wearing the ugly burnt orange colored jumpsuit that his partner is wearing. "They're just SIMs, literally what could they do? Cry out that we're breaking the law?"

Locus-X's eyes are facing Felix-Z, but the gun is firm in his hands as it points towards Grif's skull aimed right between his eyes.

The situation is less than ideal.

"Nonetheless, we cannot spend any more time here than we already have," Locus-X insisted. "We're lucky the alarms haven't sounded yet due to our breach."

"Please," Felix-Z scoffs, slamming the case against a storage crate. With two clicks, he unlocks the case and pulls open the top. With a low whistle, a cocky grin spread across his face, "Now we're talking."

He grabs the lone handle in the case, and it thrums to life with a blue glow, electric veins thrumming with the criminal’s body signature.

Tightening his grip, Felix-Z activates the Key.

_Oh fuck._

Grif knew vaguely of the Keys. So far there were only two completed ones. Unlike a Pilot, the Key's were a new idea to have dimensional rifts instead of the traditional portal. But they could only be used once a day, and so long as the rift was open anyone could enter it. This was ideal for larger groups, but not for capturing criminals, since they couldn't be taken immediately in custody. Still, a portable dimensional portal was a useful instrument, and DIME Corps had let the SIM Branch test out the first few designs. Tucker had one-

And now Felix had the other.

Playing around with it, swinging across the open space, Felix-Z's eyes glinted with greed. "This is our ticket out of here and into any dimension that we want- I told you the storage units were the key to our escape, Locs."

Locus-X didn't respond to that comment, merely opting to say, "If you're done playing around, could we go?"

"Sure," Felix-Z looked towards Grif and the still unconscious Simmons. "What should we do with them?"

"Kill them," Locus-X's finger itched towards the trigger of the gun. "Leave no witnesses."

Sweat dripped down Grif's brow, and he couldn't lie and say that he wasn't scared for his life at that very moment. Dying was not on his list of things he particularly wanted to do anytime soon. But he knew better than to open his mouth and say something fucking stupid or beg for his life.

Felix-Z barked out a laugh, saying, "No, let's leave them alive. They won't say anything, right halfie?"

And in a second he was close to Grif's face, a knife dancing dangerously beneath his left eye. The tip of it dug painfully into his cheek.

Trying not to choke on his spit, it felt like his tongue was stuck in his throat, and he couldn't do anything more than giving a small and brisk nod.

"You'd certainly have to be stupid to come after us yourselves," Felix-Z continued. "And I know no SEO is going to go out of their way to go above and beyond. Why make yourselves into more cattle fodder than you have to, right?"

Another small nod.

"Glad to have come to an understanding," Felix-Z finally leaned away. "I'd love to spend some more time lounging around and getting acquainted, except, no I wouldn't. Let's go, Locus."

Locus-X didn't look pleased just leaving Grif- and Simmons- alive, but he didn't argue, and then thankfully the gun was pulled away from Grif's face and his heart started to return to its normal rate.

Felix-Z reactivates the Key and slashes down to create the blue dimensional rift. Grif's never seen a Key in action- why would he, after all? He's a fucking Pilot. He doesn't need a Key.

But the bright blue blinds his eyes, and a breeze kicks up as the rift pulls some of the air from the room into it, whipping his and the criminal’s hair.

Locus-X moves through the portal first, no hesitation in his steps, and it scares Grif, because now that he's thinking about it- how could they possibly know about Keys, and how did they know that it was being held in this storage unit-

Felix-Z is the next to go in, and he turns back to look at Grif and Simmons, and he calls out, "Give a big thanks to Vanessa for me, would you? It's because of her we can get back to terrorizing the multiverse after all."

And then he dips into the rift, and Grif gets the pleasure of staring at it for what seems like hours, but its probably only half an hour, until it closes in on itself and the storage unit is removed of it's impending strength.

"Fuck," Grif mutters. 

Lo and behold, at hearing him speak, Simmons begins to wake, groaning under his breath as he stirs. Grif can't see his expression, but given that he jolts forward and pulls tightly against their restraints, Grif's sure he's realized their situation.

"What happened?!" is the first thing out of Simmons’ mouth, and this is probably the most frazzled Grif's ever seen the SEO Captain.

"Well, besides our imminent termination when the Director finds out that the notorious dimension destroying duo- Locus-X and Felix-Z in case you forgot- escaped prison and then acquired access to the only other Key to continue their trail of destruction under _our_ watch, then not much," Grif figured he might as well tell him the truth by ripping it off like a band-aid. "By any chance did you write a will? Because I sure didn't."

Simmons takes all of a minute to process his statement, before he's freaking out and struggling harder against the wires, _"WHAT?!"_

Hissing, Grif tries his best to elbow him as he struggles, "Not so fucking loud you're right next to my goddamn ear."

"Well, sorry, but I can't understand how you're so calm right now," Simmons panicked. "People could be dead or dying right now, and given that the breach alarm hasn't sounded yet, I'm going to go ahead and guess that nobody _knows_ yet!"

"Probably not," Grif agrees. "But what do you want me to do? We're literally tied up. And no one is going to investigate the storage unit until our shift is over, which- by the way, had just started when we got ambushed."

Simmons takes a few calming breathes and nods his head in rapid succession as he says, "Take it one step at a time, Dick, one step at a time. Ok, ok. First things first- our restraints."

Grif can feel Simmons’ left hand turn and shift into a bolt cutter- the joys of having cybernetics he guessed- and with great effort from the Captain, they're finally free from the wires.

Immediately standing up, and feeling his spin be thankful for it, Grif looks at the mess that the two infamous criminals left in their wake.

Kicking one of the abandoned cases, Grif sullenly says, "We're so fucked."

"Stop saying that," Simmons whips around to yell at him, one hand massaging the other. "This is fine- we can contain this. Easy."

"Contain?" Grif quirked an eyebrow at him. "We can't contain anything. They're gone."

"But we can go after them," Simmons insists. "That's literally our job."

"No, our _job_ is to take down crooks that just so happen to end up in residential districts," Grif reminds him. "Those two? Those two are problems dealt with by _real_ DEO's. Not us."

"Grif," Simmons firmly says. "Who do you think they're gonna blame for them escaping?"

"Um, the prison guards," Grif is being petulant on purpose. His body is literally recoiling at the stupid as fuck plan that Simmons is attempting to concoct and drag him into.

_"Us,_ they're going to blame us, and you said itself, we're going to be terminated," Simmons looks terrified. "I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to die."

Grif's silent, because neither is he.

"So- what? We go after them? And just abandon our duties to do this mind you," Grif looks away from Simmons pleading face. "What are you going to do when actual DEO's come after them too?"

"I'll tell AdMIN Carolina," Simmons insists. "She'll understand, I know she will."

"She barely tolerates us REDs," Grif deadpans.

Simmons is quiet, before firmly stating, "Either we risk her anger or we die because we did nothing. At least this way we might make it out with minimal penalization."

As much as Grif hated it, Simmons had a point. He didn't like being a SEO, he hated the DIME Corps, but even he knew that they held up the duty to protect people across multiple dimensions. They didn't take lightly to workers dodging their duties, because sometimes it really was a matter of life or death for citizens.

They really didn't have any choice.

"I'll send her a message," Grif relents. "Do your fucking job and get the dimensional residue coordinates would you?"

Simmons nodded and tapped the metal chip next to his ear, bring up his HUD and holographic visor. As Simmons worked on finding out just where the two criminals went, Grif sent a message to AdMIN Carolina.

A Captain needed to direct his Pilot. That's how officer partnerships worked.

And as Grif shivered at the brisk and unnatural coldness that came with activating his exoskeleton, a wispy yellow and green light pouring out from beneath his suit to form a dimensional portal, he can only think that Simmons better not be directing Grif straight to his fucking death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was mostly exposition so you guys can get a sense of what universe we're dealing with, every chapter hereafter I'm gonna go feral with the whump I can promise you that.
> 
> Everything DIME related is actually my own original idea that I plan to feature in a graphic novel in the future. I'm exploring it here because I might as well do something with the -verse and lore, plus when I actually get to the original story I can add in Grif and Simmons in the background as little easter eggs, haha!
> 
> I made a [terminology directory](https://agent-murica.tumblr.com/post/630803921397530624/whumptober2020-terminology-key-dimedime-corps) over on my Tumblr since it'll be helpful for remembering the terms. As always, if you want to contact me you can find me on either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing).


	2. In the Hands of the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Pick Who Dies" | **Collars** | **Kidnapped**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooo Day 2 let's go! As I said yesterday, I'm going to start going really feral with angst, and since this is going to be a multi-chap fic, I'm going to put TW; notes at the end of the beginning author's notes so you guys can be aware of what each chapter holds exactly!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; collars, kidnapped, graphic description of corpses_

Grif and Simmons didn't often have to deal with missions like this one that they had self-appointed themselves with.  _ None _ of the SEO's did really.

Chasing after Locus-X and Felix-Z were  _ way _ above their pay grade. But yet, here they were, stepping out of the portal, staring down a run down and abandoned street. The sky was muted and grey and all of the houses were in various states of deterioration, rotting wood, and crumbling bricks. Cracked windows were obscured by a thick layer of grime.

Immediately Grif wanted to turn around and return to the safety of his own universe. There was just something that gripped his spine and fucking yanked on it. Chills froze his core and shadowy figures danced at the edges of his vision.

"Why the fuck would they come here?" he murmurs to Simmons, not wanting to raise his voice in case the criminals were nearby.

"Key users without intent get sent to random universes," Simmons said, not looking the least bit frightful of their surroundings. He was adjusting his visor, head swiveling from the right to the left, trying to trace more dimensional residue. "And considering that they thought it was a good idea to steal experimental equipment I'm not surprised that they don't have the hang of it yet."

Sharply sucking in air between his teeth, Grif inched closer to his partner as he asked, "Would you say that's good or bad for us?"

"Depends," Simmons turned towards him. "It's never wise to just dimension hop at random. You never know where you're gonna end up."

"So glad our dimension literally only holds, like, the facilities and one or two cities. Other than that it's just blank expanse of never-ending space," Grif admitted. "Of course there's always the penitentiaries, but we don't have to deal with those."

Simmons' expression darkened minutely, and when Grif tried to look him in the eye he simply turned away.

"What?" Grif asked. "What's with that face?"

"I- it's nothing," Simmons reassured. "Come on, let's just get going. The longer we stay standing around and talking, the more likely the two of them are getting away."

Not that it wasn't common for Grif to argue that he would rather be doing anything but work, only rivaled by his disgust about talking about feelings and shit, but a small part of his brain said that this really wasn't a subject that should be left unresolved like that. There was just something about his previous expression that unsettled him. But he held his tongue and rolled his eyes, huffing about having to work.

"I've been mentally referring to them as the criminals in my mind, what about you?" Grif spoke as they started to make their way down the abandoned street. "I didn't read the guide book, so there's probably a better term for them, huh."

"At this point, they'd be called assets since they were already incarcerated once," Simmons answered. "They belong to the system so- we're just returning the assets. That's what this type of mission would be defined as."

"That's kind of fucked, isn't it?" Grif avoided a particularly nasty looking crack in the road. "Makes them sound like property."

"To the Chorus Penitentiary, they are," Simmons stopped abruptly before making a sharp right to enter the yard of some decrepit house. Grif followed right along with his heels. "They're bad people anyways. Who cares what we call them so long as they're behind bars again and far away from the public?"

"I suppose you have a point," Grif passively agrees. He's still on edge because of their surroundings, and as he looks around he can  _ swear _ that they're being followed.

Moving close behind Simmons, he leans his head towards his ear as he whispers, "Don't look around but I think we're being followed. Call it a gut instinct."

Simmons shivered, but whether that was from his hot breath against his ear or his words, Grif didn't know. But thankfully the idiot kept his eyes straight ahead and continued to follow the trail.

Leaning back, Grif shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling the coattails of his Pilot uniform swishing against the back of his knees. Feigning disinterest, he asks- loud enough for their little stalker buddy to hear, "What do you think happened here?"

"In this universe or this area?" Simmons is thankfully playing along.

"Whichever," Grif shrugs, kicking at a crumbling and on its last leg dog house. His kick is what finally knocks it down. "You know, for a random universe, they sure picked a pretty shitty one. With no people around it'll be easy to spot them if they're being careless."

Grif can hear somebody's breath hitch as he says that. Good. He hopes whoever's following them is squirming around at the unspoken confirmation that they know they're there. Maybe it'll get them to pick their battles and leave.

Or not, considering before he spoke, their tail had hidden the sound of their footsteps well enough, and honestly, if Grif didn't have some sort of foresight from being a Pilot they might have gotten away with it too. Now though? Now he could hear the patter of uncovered feet heading in their direction.

Simmons tenses and steadies his hand against his standard neutralizer. As SEO's, they weren't licensed to pull their firearms against citizens. And often, it wasn't even needed, considering they wouldn't deal with situations where people could be a friend or foe.

But they were now SEO's pretending to be DEO's. Simmons should just pull the fucking gun out.

Maybe Grif was expecting Locus-X or Felix-Z to burst out of hiding to taunt them some more, but when a vaguely familiar form walks around a house corner, hands raised up but a steadfast look on her face Grif is only momentarily confused.

By the looks of it, so is Simmons, as his posture falters somewhat, and before either of them can get a word in edgewise, the woman blurts out, "Are you two fucking cops?"

Giving Simmons a brisk glance, Grif rolls his eyes and makes a stand down motion with his hands. 

"Not any cops that you'd be interested in, scram," he jerks his head in the opposite direction that they'd been heading.

The woman's- because he doesn't have a designation for her quite yet, but he's working on it- gaze fixates on him briefly, before squinting at Simmons for good measure too. Her eyes flit down to the neutralizer.  _ Dammit. _

"You both sure look like cops," she scowls, then her glare is pointed at him. "And  _ you _ look like my brother. But that can't be possible so who the fuck are  _ you?" _

Simmons gives him an odd look, but Grif ignores him in favor of flipping off this universe's version of Kai. 

"I'm nonya," he tells her.

"Nonya? You're trying to pull a fucking none of my business ass joke on me," she huffs, crossing her scarred arms over her tattered sweater.  _ His _ Kai would have never been caught dead wearing something as drab as that.

His Kai also wouldn't look like a breeze could knock her over.

"Listen Kaikaina..." he trails off, to look at Simmons. Simmons seems to understand what he's asking for and quickly tells him this universes designation, "Kaikaina-T8-"

"That's not my name," she scowls.

Grif doesn't even blink in surprise, "Is your name not Kaikaina in this universe?"

"Universe? What? No! My name is Kaikaina-" she gestures and points at him wildly- another thing his Kai wouldn't have done.

At getting a confirmation that her name  _ is _ Kai, Grif elects to ignore her interjection and continues where he left off, "Well, Kaikaina-T8, we are officers that deal with shit you don't even wanna comprehend, and we're currently in search of two assholes who may or may not wanna kill everyone in this dimension. Whatever asshole that's bothering you for sex is not on our list of shit we gotta do so if you'll excuse us-"

"My brother's missing!" Kai-T8 shrieked, interrupting him. She looked panicked, and her fists clenched against the rough fabric of her sweater. "Him and some of his other friends and my dealer and the nice lady from the supermarket and even the mean crabby old man who yells at me- they're all missing and suddenly people started to get sick and  _ die _ and everyone got the hell out of dodge while they still could, even the fucking cops and  _ I don't know what to do anymore!" _

Her rant left her breathless, and she hid her fist into the sleeves of her sweater as she brought it up to her mouth to cough and cough and when she pulled it away he saw small specks of spittle and blood.

This Kai is pitiful.

Simmons steps up to the plate, hand still resting above his neutralizer, and at least he's attempting to be consoling as he says, "Look, we'd like to help, but we really don't deal with in-dimensional problems. Besides, we don't have the time to look for all of these missing people. Especially if you don't know where they are."

There's a fire in Kai-T8's eyes as she spits out, "But I  _ do _ know where they're being held. I wouldn't have approached a fucking cop if I didn't."

Trying to wave her off, Simmons says, "Still-"

"Plus, you assholes were already heading in the fucking direction of the factory!" Kai-T8 smirks triumphantly. "You dicks said you were looking for someone right? Wanna make a bet that your guys met up with the snake who's been kidnapping people?"

Considering that Grif wasn't tracking the Assets, he merely glances at Simmons to confirm whether or not what this woman is saying held any weight to it. But Simmons, as any good Captain should, is already looking in the direction that they had been heading, and stared up dismayed at the plumes of smoke drifting up into the atmosphere from the tops of a large, dark, and looming building that  _ could _ or could not be said factory.

"Goddammit," Simmons hissed under his breath, before looking back at the civilian. Grif can already tell he's taking into account the fact that she's clearly ill and would get killed if whatever serial kidnapper had some sort of guard. The town had probably been inflicted by a human trafficking ring.

Simmons turned towards him and he shook his head, informing him, "She's gonna follow no matter what we do. Let her get killed if she's stupid enough to come along."

Grif elected to ignore the flash of hurt that popped up on Kai-T8's face.

Groaning, and rubbing a hand over his eyes, Simmons snapped, "Fine. Whatever. Who cares- so long as she dies of an in-dimension criminal I don't fucking care."

With having said that, Simmons stomped back in the direction of the factory, and Grif once again followed closely behind him. Except this time, the hesitant, and somewhat limping form of Kai-T8 followed after  _ him. _

They had to pass by multiple rows of run-down houses, and the whole time Kai-T8 had been attempting to make light conversation, asking questions like 'What does in-dimension mean?' and 'Why are you so much more of an asshole than  _ my _ Dex?' and the like.

The SEO Captain and the SEO Pilot answered none of them.

It wasn't against the DIME rule book to tell alternate dimensional citizens what it was exactly that they did- in fact, it was encouraged as it often helped the DEO's get their mission done sooner, and honestly, a dimension that was aware that there were others in the multiverse was better than one that was ignorant.

But Grif and Simmons weren't in a talking mood- Simmons likely because he was focused on the Assets, and Grif because he didn't really care for anyone other than  _ his _ Kai. He didn't really subscribe to that whole substitution nonsense that most Dimensional Criminals got into their heads.

Most dimensional infringements were caused by people who wanted to invade another universe that had their loved ones still breathing in it.

Thankfully, Kai-T8 seemed to have finally read the room and quieted down the last block before they were faced with a rusted metal gate that acted as a barrier between the suburbs and the factory.

"How many people can you get a read on in there?" Grif asked, watching idly as Simmons' left hand once again turned into a bolt cutter, making quick work of the fence.

Once he had cleared a way for them to get in, Simmons tapped his visor, and Grif saw his eyes flit around to read the HUD.

Pursing his lips, his fellow SEO asked, "Alive or dead?"

Kai-T8 choked back a sob, but Grif answered, "Alive. You think Locus-X and Felix-Z are in there?"

"It's hard to tell," Simmons licked his lips nervously. "The residue is all muddled up because of the factory. I won't be able to tell until we actually get inside."

Grif can see this endeavor going one of three ways. Best case scenario, the Assets  _ were _ in there, and somehow by the grace of Satan or something, the two of them could recapture them and get the fuck back to their own dimension to hand them off to someone undoubtedly more qualified than them. The most likely scenario, they were gone, and then they could ditch Kai-T8 to continue their search.

Worst case scenario, all three of them die. Grif was sure Locus-X wouldn't be making the same mistake again.

Well, no use speculating, might as well get this shit show done and over with.

Passing through the fence, they snuck up to the entrance of the factory. Much like every other building in this dimension, the factory was practically crumbling away and had vines crawling up its walls.

Grif didn't know why it still had active smokestacks. It didn't sound like anyone was operating anything inside.

Simmons didn't hesitate to enter through the doors, despite Kai-T8 shrilly demanding they be discreet and sneaky about entering the damn place. Considering that  _ Simmons _ wasn't worried about it, Grif was sure that whatever his HUD was telling him had ensured that they wouldn't be gunned down at the door.

The inside of the factory wasn't much better. Lone machinery stood and collected dust as light filtered through the cracked windows. But, there was good- depending on how one looked at it- news.

Two pairs of footsteps led deeper into the building.

With more caution, the SEO's worked their way deeper into the labyrinth-like building, aiming to walk past two large doors considering that the residue didn't turn that way.

But their little tag along didn't mimic their stride and instead paused at the doors, ear straining to hear some sign of life.

Kai-T8 must have heard something because she started to push the doors open, arms wobbling at the exertion of effort, and Grif was inclined to stop and watch as she nearly stumbled into the room.

And he watched as tears filled her eyes and she disappeared inside.

Simmons paused, turning around to question what the hold up was when Grif entered the room itself.

The first thing that stood out to him was the rancid smell. A mixture of old bile, piss, and god knows what else assaulted his nose, and he scrunched it up as his eyes finally took in the source of the smell.

People in chains. Collared, with red and blistered necks. Some of them breathing shallowly as their lungs rattled wetly. Most of them dead.

His eyes roamed over the collapsed forms, not recognizing any of the sunken in faces. While some of the prisoners had their eyes open, all they did was blink and little else.

But Kai-T8 did recognize them. He would even go so far as to say that she recognized all of them.

She merely paused in front of a washed-out six-year-old girl cradled in her dying mother’s arms as her eyes were glassy and looked up at the ceiling. The mother’s lips moved, repeating the same thing over and over again, and there was a huffy murmur that indicated she wasn't just mouthing the words. But the words tongue was swollen up, so the faint words sounded like,  _ "Marthk. Marthk." _

"You know her?" Grif asked, not sure what else to say in this situation. 

Kai-T8 nodded her head, biting her lip to hold back her howls of pain. "She was the nice lady at the supermarket," she breathlessly informed him. "She always came in on Sundays to buy her daughter her favorite snacks. She was going to start first grade just a few weeks before... well..."

"Well, this is sad and all," he awkwardly shuffled. "I don't know what you want me to do. We're going to move on now."

He started to turn when he heard Kai-T8 whisper, "How..."

"Hm?" he turned back to face her properly.

"How can you just- just move on from this?" she was shaking, but instead of anger- which he could understand, if she took out her pain on him- she was trembling in unbridled fear. Her eyes darted to look all over his face, and she continued, "You're just- Dex would have thrown up at the  _ least-" _

"Yeah, well, I'm not your Dex," he cut her off. She was probably going into shock. But they really couldn't waste any more time.

He stepped out of the room, grateful for the fresh air, and stepped in line with Simmons. The two of them followed the trail left behind by the Assets until reaching the security room that had the doors blasted off.

Inside there was a man draped across a chair in front of the multiple monitors. He looked as though a puppet with its strings cut, and there was a stark bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Grif's own temple throbbed and he was pretty sure the bullet that entered this man’s skull was meant for him not too long ago.

The computer screens were all glitched out and corrupted. All except one, which shown a bright blue and held the message,  _ "You should thank me for this halfie :)" _

Simmons looked around and sighed as he faced the corridor they had just walked through.

"I think they know about the dimensional residue," he muttered. "They backtracked. We're gonna have to search a little closer. For all we know they were camped back in one of those houses and they laughed at us as we walked right past them."

"I mean, I would have thought that a little obvious, they probably wouldn't have made it as far as dimension crossers if they didn't know at least  _ that," _ Grif pointed out.

"Let's just get out of here," Simmons gave one last look at the man. "At least Kaikaina-T8 won't have to worry about the serial kidnapper anymore."

"Wonder why he did it," Grif was curious about who this mysterious man was. Walking further into the room, the man looked in no better condition than some of the people he had kidnapped, if his purple eye-bags and tightly pulled skin had anything to say about it.

Simmons moved around the control rooms, his own curiosity betraying him. Pulling out a manila folder, he flipped through its contents before stopping on a page.

"He developed some sort of infection, that's what's coming out of the smokestacks," his partner informed him. "We should be good since it takes forty-eight hours for the infection to settle within the human body. It'll be flushed out of our system by the time we leave this dimension and head to the next, whichever one that may be."

Grif didn't point out that Simmons didn't say  _ their _ dimension. He must be dismissing this attempt as a failure, and Grif wasn't too far behind them.

Having satisfied their nosiness tendencies, the two of them started to head back to the entrance. They passed a door that hadn't been open before, and Grif only gave a quick glance inside for the image to be burned into his eyelids.

Kai-T8 was hunched over a figure on the ground. This room wasn't packed to the brim with kidnapped prisoners but instead held one solitary body. They wore the same rags as all of the other people did, and a collar was present on their neck too, and judging by the lingering smell of burnt flesh, Grif came to the conclusion that it must have been a shock collar. The figure’s eyes were rolled into the back of their head, and blood poured profusely from their mouth.

It's weird, seeing your own corpse lying in front of you. Except that it wasn't, and this must be Dexter-T8.

Standing at the threshold, Grif called out to the silently sobbing woman, "Are you going to come with? We can find you somewhere else to-"

"No," Kai-T8 interrupted him. Shaking her head softly. Slowly, and with great pain, as she coughed and hacked. The infection must have settled deep within her body for some time now. "No, I'm just- I'm gonna stay here. With Dex."

He watches as she fiddled slowly with the corpse’s hand, fingers locking together as she continued to sob.

The last thing he says to Kai-T8 is, "Ok."

And then he leaves.

He and Simmons cannot find Locus-X or Felix-Z nor do they run into any DEO's. They end up passing by the factory in their continued search, and Grif doesn't even have to ask Simmons to check before the Captain is turning towards him to shake his head.

This dimension ends up being a bust, and twenty-four hours had passed. A new dimensional residue popped up and Simmons filtered out the new coordinates and Grif dutifully activated his exoskeleton to open up a new portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I left enough clever hints for people to figure out who the man behind the serial kidnappings was. And who the woman and her child were. If not then maybe I'll explain in tomorrow's author's note? Well in any case, super excited to continue with this fic. It's like a longer and more graphic interpretation of the scenario in Not So Mundane!
> 
> Also, as for the chapter titles and summaries, I will be transcribing the daily themes straight from the Whumptober tumblr blog. Just so you guys know where they come from!
> 
> As always, you guys can find me on either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	3. My Way or The Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Manhandled** | **Forced to their Knees** | **Held at Gunpoint**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing these is so much fun, it's like, I don't even know how to articulate how much I love this AU and this universe, especially since it's like a trial run of playing around with it before I ever get to my original graphic novel idea, you know? I don't know, it's just a lot of fun.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; manhandling, violence, forced to their knees, held at gunpoint, discussion of cruel terminology_

For their second try, the dimension that they ended up in wasn't all too bad. It was way more populated- which worked in favor of the Assets but not them. The crowds hid their quarry well enough that a quick scan meant absolutely nothing. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

Because Simmons' visor picked up  _ three different _ dimensional residue trails.

Tracking dimensional residue was the main way of capture for DIME officers, and it made sense considering that it was the easiest way to follow cross-dimensional criminals. Every dimension had a thick energy to it that layered on top of the things residing within, like a cloak of fresh snow covering everything in white. These energy signatures were unique to their dimension, and so, when someone infringed upon a reality not their own the invasive residue would stick out. 

When portals were opened, part of this residue would slip into the other side and that's how they could track the new universes coordinates.

But the original residue would wear off if someone stayed in a different dimension long enough. That's why the DIME constantly monitored every dimension- there was a time limit for these people to be caught. And sometimes it was so crucial to find and arrest them before they did anything that they might regret. Sane people just didn't go to a dimension not their own.

And that meant that any death that may occur due to the Dimensional Criminal was on the fault of the DIME. Had they been more diligent, then those people would have continued in the path carved out for them.

As such, Grif could see the exact moment where conflict entered Simmons being.

It wasn't a matter of being confused by the cross over trails- they could still track the Assets residue no problem. It was the matter of being confronted with hopefully no more than  _ four _ different Dimensional Criminals at once.

Realistically, there was probably a DEO or SEO already assigned to the other two trails. But Simmons hadn't been pinged yet about the presence of other officers. 

And the other two trails were starting to go cold, the residue weaning out of the universe as that dimensions energy smothered it out.

Simmons was pulling at his bottom lips as his teeth gnashed together. He was clearly trying to stop himself from going after the two other threats, and considering that they were more likely their usual targets Grif was sure arresting them would bring some sort of comfort to the Captain.

"It's not like the Assets are going to be able to go anywhere," Grif speaks up when the yanking of lips turns into biting them raw.

Letting out a shaky sigh, Simmons sneers as he looks at a couple passing by- it really was amazing how denizens could walk right past the two out of place uniformed officers no matter the dimension they were in- and says, "They could kill people during that time."

"True," Grif notes, because it was a good point, however, "But so could the other two."

Simmons’ lips were started to bleed from how hard he was biting them, little beads of red getting smeared as he goes back to pulling on the bottom one.

"Look," Grif starts as he reaches down into his pocket to pull out his communications rod. Attaching it to the side of his head he presses the top of it to bring up his own HUD. "We can split up- ah, before you bitch at me- we split up and follow the other two trails and catch the bastards. If we happen to get a lead on Locus-X or Felix-Z we can abandon the other in favor of them. Sound good?"

"I don't like it," Simmons furrows his brows. "And besides, how would I get the criminal back to our universe without  _ you _ around."

"Easy, just send me a message that you caught them and I'll come heading in your direction," really, Grif would have thought that Simmons would jump at the chance to be useful at his job in the face of their previous failure.

But his partner had a counter for even that, "And if you're in the middle of pursuing the other criminal?"

Rolling his eyes, and starting to get somewhat irritated at Simmons' resistance, he snaps, "Obviously I would finish capturing them. Fuck, are you trying to say that you can't handle  _ one _ measly criminal by yourself? Literally, just neutralize the fucker."

The Captain pondered Grif's solution for a moment longer before nodding his head and agreeing, "Fine, that works. Let's back up here, and hopefully, it won't take long. Do you still remember this dimension’s coordinates? I literally cannot stress how important it is for you to be able to get us back here before we lose the Assets forever."

Of course, Grif did, but he knew it would bring Simmons piece of mind to say, "Send them over to me."

And with a plan having been made, the two of them separated for what felt like possibly the first time in years. They didn't always have shifts together, but since time just seemed to blur in their own dimension, to Grif it felt like he had been by Simmons' side always. Which is why straying away from him felt so strange, even if he knew that they would meet back up soon.

Traversing through the dimension wasn't too difficult, and Grif was glad that something about his demeanor must have set off some invisible alarm in people because every crowd he encountered parted a way for him to get through. He doubted that it was because of his uniform, or even the visible neutralizer at his hip. If he had to guess, it would be that people naturally stepped out of the path of someone exuding determination to reach their destination.

Which was ridiculous when applied to Grif, since he didn't particularly care about the pursuit, and he certainly wasn't filled with any disgusting type of feelings like determination. If anything, it was only his willingness to not have to deal Simmons' neurosis that pushed him forward, following the residue trail like a bloodhound.

And when he reached the end of the trail, staring up at the flashy, neon lights of a strip club, Grif almost wanted to get angry. Because  _ seriously? _ You manage to cross dimensions and this is what you spent your time doing? Watching women dance and drape themselves off of you like some kind of lewd pervert?

Grif could at least understand to an extent the Dimensional Criminals stricken with grief since, while he never experienced that level of sadness before, he logically knew that the brain worked about as well as a broken gear on most days. Getting into to run smoothly and efficiently when broken down was another thing altogether.

He could even see why the more dangerous Dimensional Criminals do what they do if someone was willing to hurt they were going to achieve their goals any way that they could. And if they were sadistic enough, they were going to search out every possible person to exist to inflict pain on. And when they found out that there were multiple different dimensions to act as their playground? That's when they went power crazy.

As a SEO, he hadn't yet dealt with those types of villains. But he heard about the stories of murderous ex's who wanted to kill every possible version of their lover as they could. Or serial killers who wanted the thrill of their first kill again.

Locus-X and Felix-Z were his first altercation with those types of criminals. And there was an almost professional- no, that was the wrong word- there was an  _ indifference _ to the way they operated. They had no personal ties to the people and the dimensions they fucked over. It was all monetary gain to them.

But whoever this fucker was? This guy was probably a thrill seeker. Liked to get off on the idea that he could get away with breaking the main multiverse law.

And as Grif entered the building, he aimed to show the guy wrong.

He was in for a few shocks when he entered the strip club. The first was, of course, somehow Grif must have completely missed the fact that this was a  _ male _ strip club. His mistake, but since he wasn't actually there to indulge, he didn't particularly care  _ who _ was on stage at the moment.

His second surprise was when he made eye contact with the stripper currently performing on stage with the pole.

He's so glad the black tint to his visor concealed his expression because onlookers might have given him a funny look at the way his eyes nearly bulged right out of their sockets at this universe's version of Simmons performing a sexually charged dance in front of onlookers.

Quickly, and respectfully, Grif averted his eyes and went back to tracking the residue. The sooner he was out of this club the fucking better.

And...  _ there. _

The guy was rather plain looking- and briefly, Grif was relieved that this wouldn't be a repeat of having to stare down an alternate version of himself again- with no real outstanding features. And he would look like any salaryman had it not been for the fact that he was indulging in the entertainment with a bottle of beer waiting between his lips for another sip.

Grif isn't ashamed of the way he approached the man, slowly so as to not alarm anyone that anything was wrong, and pulled his neutralizer against the man’s forehead and fired.

He's been on the receiving end of one before. It was a big part of their conditioning training upon his initial drafting into the DIME Corps. They'd make you experience the pain of it over and over until it didn't make you flinch. 

So that's how he knew that the main was currently convulsing in place, eyes rolling up into the back of his head, as a cold fire spread through his veins, which could be clearly seen against his rapidly paling skin.

People around them screamed at the sight of- to them- a random man attacking a patron. But Grif ignored them and their scrambling to escape, and he certainly doesn't look back at the stripper Simmons.

As the man starts to foam at the mouth, teeth clenched tightly over his tongue- and Grif knows that the neutralizer isn't powerful enough to induced mutilation by biting off your own tongue- and he manages to open his mouth to gurgle out, "W-why?"

"You should have expected the DIME to come after you sooner or later," he's expected to give some explanation for his actions. "You have no one to blame but yourself."

He hauls the downed man up, manhandling him towards the exit, secure in the knowledge that the paralyzing agent has set in already. Nobody stops him as he drags the man behind him, and he doesn't even hear the sound of in-dimension law enforcement, which is typical considering that the part of town that he was in was pretty shady. 

There's no sign of Simmons by the time he reaches the spot that they agreed to meet up at, and he waits about ten more minutes before saying fuck it and opening up a portal back to his dimension. The man’s eyes are wide as he seems the ominous and noxious yellow-green light, and Grif snorts at the look on his frozen face as he pulls him through the portal.

He enters the training hall that he knows Carolina frequents often, and just as he figured, she's there slamming her fists relentlessly into a punching bag. She perks up at the sound of an emerging portal, and her face turns thunderous at the sight of Grif.

Before she can tear into him in anger, he dumps the body of the man in front of her, effectively stopping her in her tracks and says, "Stay here, would you? Simmons is going after another one right now."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Carolina grits out, "You're not supposed to be picking up strays while on an important mission."

Shrugging, and starting to feel the strain of keeping the portal open, Grif hurries out, "Simmons would have had a freak out if we left them alone. I'll be back soon."

Thankfully, the AdMIN understands that he's straining his exoskeleton by keeping up the conversation, so she waves him off and he hurries back to the dimension again. There's still no sign of Simmons or the other criminal, so Grif takes the brief reprieve for what it is and leans his back against the nearest building.

He plays around with his communications before quickly losing interest, and huffing out impatiently. Normally, Grif would have loved to take this chance to just nap while he could. But he hasn't done that as much recently- for obvious, ten-cent related reasons- and having broken the habit makes it hard to lull himself into a light rest. Instead, his ears are atoned to every single sound that the bustling groups of people make, everything from a group of school kids laughing as they make their way to- and he only knows this by listening in- their favorite ice cream shop to the parents leading their children home to the footsteps approaching him-

Grif opens his eyes, fully expecting it to be Simmons dragging behind him the downed Dimensional Criminal.

Instead, he's greeted with a gun. Again.

And to think that he had done such a good job with his observational awareness in the last dimension.

Locus-X stares down at him impatiently, and his large and impending form blocks anyone passing by to see the weapon out in bright daylight.

"Shit," tumbles out of his mouth.

"Shit is right, you know," and there was Felix-Z, appearing from behind the man with a twisted grin on his face. "We have some questions for you, and just in case you were thinking about it, you can't say no."

The man nodded his head at Locus-X, who nudged the gun harshly against his forehead- and Grif is only half-aware that perhaps this was an act of karmic revenge of the multiverse on behalf of the Null he just arrested- and a firm hand grips his shoulder to lead him down a nearby alleyway. They direct him all the way to an isolated construction site.

Upon arriving, Felix-Z pulled out the stolen Key and waved it around lazily.

"You know, after having this thing hyped up around us for months on end, it's really just a piece of shit," the Asset remarks. His eyes narrow in on Grif's and he demands, "So obviously we must have been fed wrong information on purpose because as it is, I don't see why we don't just take you hostage and make you do all the work for us, halfie."

The insult rolls off of the man's tongue with a familiarity that only makes Grif slightly upset. The term was a derogatory word for Pilot's, meant to insinuate that they were half-human, half-tool. It had first started when Pilot's started to make the rounds in initial field testing and started to successfully arrest criminals, with those pissed off that they had been caught by what they inferred as walking portals coming up with the word on the spot before it quickly made the rounds and soon pretty much everyone knew what the word meant and who to use it on.

Perhaps he would have been more offended if he took more pride in being a Pilot, but he really,  _ really _ didn't so it was no skin off his back.

"Not that I have any say in this, but even that wouldn't solve your dilemma," the words tumble out of his mouth, even though he really shouldn't be saying anything in this situation. "My max capacity of riders is just one other than myself."

"So then back to the original purpose of this meeting," Felix wanders behind him to knock him off his feet and plant his foot firmly against his back. "Tell us how to work this fucking Key or we'll just kill you and ask your little partner. He should be around here somewhere, it wouldn't be all too hard to track him down."

Grif grunted at the feeling of the criminal pushing all of his weight against his very delicate and prone to bursts of pain spine- considering that was where the main centralizer of his exoskeleton was.

By revealing to them how to properly work the Key, Grif would be bumping them up into a Level-10 threat. Something he and Simmons had been banking on taking a while to happen, giving them a head start in the chase.

But if he didn't say anything than the two of them would be dead. Because he knows his partner well enough by now to know that even though he was a spineless bitch with an appalling low pain tolerance level, he wouldn't squeal even upon threat of unimaginable pain.

Grif really didn't have any other choice but to say  _ something. _

"Having an idea of what dimension you're heading into could certainly help things," Grif quipped, right before the but of the pistol that Locus-X had been aiming at his head connected mercilessly against his jaw, snapping it to the side.

And Grif worked his jaw back into place, and even then his jaw felt stiff and wouldn't settle into place correctly, Felix-Z flipped a knife up and down into the air, drawling out, "Yeah, real funny wise-guy. You're going to need to give us a little more if you want to make it out of here with all your fingers still intact- I'm getting a little antsy here."

Scowling, before wincing and settling his face into a more neutral position, Grif concedes and tells them, "A Key can only be used once a day, it needs twenty-four hours to recharge before using it again."

Felix-Z halts his knife trick, holding the blade loftily by the tip, and even Locus-X seems bewildered by this information.

This makes Grif think that this whole time, in just the other dimension, they must have been feeling like sitting ducks, wondering why the portable portal that they stole wouldn't work.

"Why the hell would anyone want something as useless as that," Felix-Z hissed. "Seriously?! How the hell is that supposed to be useful to you fuckers?"

Grif doesn't say anything, just lets the man rant. Besides, giving that piece of information should be enough for the man to leave Grif alone- hopefully. He wouldn't put it past them to just kill him here, and really it would be the most logical thing to do, given that the longer they let him and Simmons live, the more likely that the two of them will slip up somehow.

Apparently, Felix-Z must have continued going at it, because by the time that Grif zones back in- having gotten distracted by various versions of his death flashing through his mind,  _ and the minute flash of an already dead Grif coming and going just as swift- _ he hears, "-can't those idiotic DIME engineers do  _ anything right? _ We're just supposed to- what? Think through our  _ every _ move so that we don't get stuck somewhere we can't even run away from?"

"Felix," Locus-X gruffed out, eyes straying away from Grif but the gun still firmly pointed his way, a position that the two of them seemed to find themselves in. "We need to take a defensive position until the tool is back in operating condition."

Felix-Z rolled his eyes, and as a way to let out his still pent up anger, he grounded his foot against Grif's back in sick satisfaction. "I suppose you're right."

Locus-X looked ready to end Grif's pitiful existence, but for the second time since he's had the displeasure of meeting him, Felix-Z stopped him.

"Don't, it's only fair that we let him return to his pathetic partner," the Asset proclaims, and before the other man can vehemently disagree with the decision, the stupid rat looking motherfucker's lips quirk up. "Besides, he’s given us some really useful information. We now know two very important things, the first being, obviously, that this Key can only work once a day. And the second-"

A harsh kick against his back, hitting a centralizer dead on and causing Grif to recoil and dig his head into the rough ground.

"Is that the halfie can only ever hope to capture  _ one _ of us at a time," through a face full of dirt, Grif could see the evil and mischievous glint to Felix-Z's eyes.

"Let's go," and with that, the Asset is done playing around with Grif's life, and walks away.

Locus-Z strays behind, and Grif wonders if he would go against his own partners back to silence Grif forever, but surprisingly he doesn't and he merely stayed to inform him, "You are only alive because that fool would rather play with the mice than hunt it down and kill it."

Grif swallows harshly, feeling his Adam's apple bobbing against the ground, and he only lifts his head up when the two criminals are completely gone from his view. Even then he sticks around for ten more minutes, just to be safe before he gets up completely and hurries back to Simmons' position.

His partner is miraculously unharmed, and given that there was a downed criminal next to him, Grif knew that at the very least they had accomplished something good today.

"There you are," Simmons locked on his approaching form. "I was wondering- what happened?!"

Grif's eyes are downcast, and he doesn't answer, instead choosing to grip the unconscious man and start-up another portal, dragging the man into it and leaving Simmons squandering behind him.

When he returned, he would have to explain what had happened to the Captain. And then he would have to deal with the fault out of whatever Simmons' reaction would be.

Then the two of them would have to wait around- and Grif wasn't going to chance approaching the Assets so soon after encountering them again, and thankfully Simmons was in agreement since his reaction to the new development was fright- until a full day had passed and the new coordinates could be located.

But for now, Grif would hand over the man in his grasp to Carolina, and try not to think about how his back ached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing this AU's version of Grif since I'm specifically writing his POV with disordered thinking in mind. This Grif does have a personality disorder, but I'm hoping to make it obvious over time with his thoughts before I just flat out say what reference point I'm writing him with. 
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying this event and story! If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing).


	4. Running Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caged | **Buried Alive** | Collapsed Building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did somebody say _callback?_
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; buried alive, graphic description of corpses_

So far, their track record was fucking shit. That's two dimensions where the Assets were just able to get away. And now they knew how to operate a Key, which meant that the likelihood of them having any sort of lucky break is just not going to happen. They were mentally prepared for having the new dimensions beat the literal shit out of them.

Erring on the side of caution was an absolute must now. They couldn't take any chances.

This new universe brought them to a bustling metropolis, and it was somewhat similar to their own dimension that the two of them relaxed somewhat. Grif would even bet money on it being a near-identical set up to the city that resides beyond the DIME Corps estate.

Something that was strange, however, was that nearly everyone was wearing some sort of high-tech full body armor. Which meant that the two of them stood out, wearing their SEO uniforms and such. But, this was also a good thing- Locus-X and Felix-Z would stand out just as much.

That, in itself, was strange however. Ending up in this dimension made sense when they didn't know how to use the Key since hiding with the crowd worked well enough the previous day. So, what about this dimension compelled them to come here?

As the two of them began to track the Assets, Grif noticed that they were receiving strange looks from the few people who weren't in armor.

"Why do they keep staring at us," Simmons says under his breath.

Grif walks ahead of the Captain so that he can throw his head back and stare at his partner but also get a glance at some of the citizens. From what he can tell, the looks seem more out of respect than ostracization.

So perhaps maybe this dimension’s version of themselves were big deals or some kind of hotshot.

"What's this dimension’s designation?" Grif asks, figuring that it would help ahead of time so that if they ran into anyone who would mistake them for their doubles he wouldn't have to refer to them as a Null.

"Let me check," Simmons glanced at his HUD searching for the designation. "W19."

He nodded and continued his glancing around. So far no sign of the Assets. At this point, they might have to start asking around, but that tended to either be a shit show or a circus act.

"It's- it's strange," Simmons spoke up. "Their residue this time around."

"How do you mean?" Grif questioned. He didn't have a single clue what the other man could mean by that.

"It's like- gah, the other dimensions it was a little less, hm, confident? No, it would make more sense to call it, this trail has more purpose than the other ones," Simmons explained. "The other two dimensions, it felt like they were just wandering around, but here? They knew where they were going. Or at least, had a semblance of an idea of where."

"They've probably been here before then," Grif concluded. And it would certainly explain why they would choose a dimension with armored individuals when they had none.

Simmons rubbed at his eyes, likely dry from the strain of having to stare at his visor for so long. "It wouldn't surprise me."

Taking a glance at his fellow officer, Grif was aware that he was looking like, well, shit. He knew that Simmons was taking this whole thing a lot harder than he was. Grif was aloof about the whole thing, and given his previous attitude during missions, he considered the amount of energy and effort he was putting into this whole thing a step above his usual reaction. Simmons often complained that Grif was too apathetic to actually care about his job, which was true. He held no attachment or love for the DIME Corps.

But Simmons was... different in a way he didn't really understand yet. Grif certainly didn't care about his other SEOs as much as he cared about Simmons. So a part of him felt if he'd permit himself to admit it,  _ bad _ that Simmons was clearly pushing himself to his limits. Whereas Grif could easily stay up and wait for the last few seconds of the day pass, Simmons would fall into a restless sleep, always kicking awake and trying to keep his shuttering huffs under control.

This prompts him to awkwardly approach the Captain and ask, "Hey, do you need to take a small break?"

Simmons waved him off, but an appreciative look crossed his face as he says, "No, no, I'm fine. Just got a small case of dry eye. It'll pass."

"Right," Grif shifted his weight onto his other foot. "Still-"

Grif is interrupted by a distant, but getting louder the further along it gets, voice calling out, "Hey, is that-  _ GRIF!" _

Groaning and rolling his eyes, Grif falls back in line with Simmons and glares at the approaching citizen.

It was hard to tell at first, but the quicker the person gets, the more Grif realizes that the person approaching is this version of  _ Simmons. _

A quick glance at his partner reveals that Simmons is nervous about this as well.

Technically, they haven't yet encountered a double. Sure, Grif's seen his own carcass, but Dexter-T8 was already dead and thus there weren't any complications with trying to explain why two versions of himself existed. And that Simmons-Null from the other day was only encountered by Grif himself.

So this should be... interesting.

Apparently, this version of his partner- Simmons-W19, Grif reminds himself- completely misses the fact that there's a mirror of himself as he careens straight towards Grif and furiously exclaims, "Where have you been, do you know how worried we all were when we couldn't find you  _ anywhere?!" _

Grif flinched back at the pitch Simmons-W19 was able to achieve, because  _ fuck _ could this guy shriek.

Taking a step back, Simmons-W19 finally realizes that something isn't  _ quite _ right, and he gestures towards Grif's Pilot uniform and questions, "What the hell are you even wearing? Do those buttons have the Freelancer insignia on it? And what the hell does DIME mean?"

"Right, well, where to start," Grif massaged his right thumb into his left palm. "Well, firstly, sorry man but I'm not your Grif."

Immediately Simmons-W19 was back in his space as he glared at him to further interrogate, "What do you mean by that?"

"If you'd just look to my left, you'd see another version of yourself," is all that Grif responds with. "That should help clarify things."

He watches with faint interest as Simmons-W19's eyes stray towards Grif's side before he jumps back and looks positively spooked.

"Wh-what the hell?!" Simmons-W19 whispers, eyes open wide as the sweat that had built up from running over towards them began to run down his temple.

Simmons glares at Grif, and quips, "You couldn't have any less tack, could you?"

"I doubt he'd listen to what I had to say if he didn't notice you," Grif retorts. "Makes things go by quicker, don't you think?"

Simmons-W19 raises his hands- and the glint of metal in the sun brings Grif's attention to the fact that this Simmons also had cybernetics, which was only mildly interesting- and he demands, "Someone please tell me what the fuck is going on. Is this another Blues and Reds doppelganger bullshit? Temple  _ just _ escaped prison, he couldn't have found duplicates that quickly-"

Growing tired of the continued back-and-forth, Grif pulls out his ID Card and flashes it in front of the other Simmons' eyes, firmly telling him, "Look, we're from another dimension and we're currently in pursuit of some dangerous criminals. So unless you want to distract us any further, we'll just be on our way."

Simmons-W19 attempts to grab at the card, but Grif pulls it back and pockets it.

"So, you're not  _ my _ Grif then," Simmons-W19 swallows thickly. "I- I suppose it's not within the realm of impossibility, we just got back from time-traveling after all..."

"Cool, we don't have time for this," Simmons cuts his double off. "We really need to get going W19."

"W19?" Simmons-W19 questions, before shaking his head to get back on track. "Wait, you guys are looking for someone, right? Because, well, fuck- you might have guessed from my confusion, but  _ my _ Grif is missing-"

"Check an abandoned factory, you'll probably find his corpse there," Grif interrupted him, finding the similarity to Kai-T8's predicament. Although, he was sure this wasn't the  _ same _ scenario, given the fact that this Simmons looked relatively healthy, and the city was far from abandoned.

But still, last time they got sidetracked by following this exact side-quest. And after their last fuck up, Grif wasn't in the mood to do a repeat.

"C-corpse?" Simmons-W19 paled, but the two of the SEO's just walked right past him. They really had to get a move on.

His Simmons did spare a brief glance back at his double, before turning towards Grif to exclaim, "This is the second universe where you went missing. Should I get a leash for you then?"

The Captain let out a nervous chuckle, but Grif could tell that he was unnerved at the information they had just received. And Grif would admit that it was weird that two of the three universes that they had ended up in had had him missing or dead at the end of it. If he were a more superstitious man, he'd probably see it as some sort of sign that his impending death was coming soon. And really, he should probably be on his guard now, since he wouldn't put it past the Assets to find a universe where a kidnapper conveniently didn't  _ have _ a Grif to nab.

But if kidnappers were the only thing he'd need to keep his guard up about, Grif was confident that he'd be in a more fortunate circumstance when compared to his doubles considering he could just portal out of there. The only way to stop a Pilot was by death, especially since there wasn't any way to temporarily disable the exoskeleton without immediate termination of the host- DIME claimed that it was to make sure that Pilot's couldn't be held hostage.

And yet, Grif was somewhat flattered that Simmons was worried enough for him. Grif considered the man a good partner but didn't think that their bond went as far as to worry about each other's safety over hypotheticals. 

"Relax, I think a leash would be stretching it," he feels compelled to reassure the other man. Besides, a clear-headed Captain was a better leader. "But if it makes you feel better, we don't have to split up anymore as we did in the last dimension."

Simmons visibly relaxed as the tension wafted off of his body gradually, nodding his head absently as he affirmed, "Yeah, that's a good idea. We're stronger in pairs- more prepared that way."

Something about that made Grif slightly uncomfortable, prompting him to ask, "So, what direction are we heading next?" just to change the subject.

Curling his lips, Simmons looked about, before pointing towards a section of the city that looked like it was cleared for construction. "That way."

The two of them made their way over there, running into fewer and fewer people until they finally make it to the clearing. There aren't any foundations for a building or what have you, but instead, there's a large and abandoned excavator.

Simmons walked onto the clearing hesitantly, his eyes roaming around as he follows the trail, before stopping.

Then, to Grif's confusion, he walks around in a circle, looking just as lost.

"It- the residue just, circles around this one spot," Simmons gestures down. "And then, there's no other trail beyond the one that led us here."

"So they backtracked again?" Grif wandered over to the spot that Simmons had circled around, his footsteps making a faint circle in the dirt.

"Yes, but- why here?" Simmons is still looking around as if the clearing can bring him all the answers in the world.

Grif kneels down and pulls off his glove so as to not dirty it, before lightly digging his fingers into the ground. It shifts under his prodding, moving easily as if it was still settling. Shuffling outside of the circle, he tests the ground there instead. It's harder and doesn't bend under his fingers as easily.

His gaze lifts back up to the excavator.

Slipping back on his glove after dusting off his hand, Grif jerks his head towards the machine as he points out, "What are the chances that they knew that there was something underneath the ground."

Simmons tugs at his bottom lip but lets it go easily as he shifts his focus to the ground, squinting as his HUD shoots off information at him.

"There's some kind of container eight feet under here," Simmons confirms.

"Bit excessive for a grave," Grif remarks.

Simmons gnaws on his lip before looking back up at him, "You think it's a grave?"

"What else would it be? Cities need graveyards too," he makes his way over to the excavator. "If we're lucky, whatever idiot left this here would have also left the keys."

For the first time in a string of jinxes, they got lucky enough that the keys to activate the equipment were hanging in front of the shield.

Before Grif could activate the machine, Simmons reached out and blurted out, "Wait- I don't like this."

Stopping, he turned towards the other man and quirked an eyebrow at him, prompting him to continue.

"Something about this just feels wrong, like, why would the Assets want us to investigate this? Nothing good can come from uncovering whatever's down there," Simmons insisted. "We shouldn't get sidetracked like this."

"You're not the least bit curious?" while Simmons' hesitation wasn't uncalled for, Grif could admit it shocked him.

"No." Simmons looked towards the circle.

They stared that way in silence- with Grif seated in the excavator, and Simmons within arms reach.

"Well, if you're sure," Grif sighed and got up and out of the machine. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked past Simmons towards the entrance to the clearing, "You're right though. We told off that other version of you for distracting us with his missing Grif case. Wouldn't be fair if we ignored his bullshit in favor of..."

Grif trailed off when he noticed one single imperfection in the clearing.

There was a row of tiny holes in the ground, and he approached them for further inspection. Using his boot to dig up the dirt, he was graced with multiple warped bullets having been fired into the air and sequentially pushed into the ground.

In the middle of his discovery, he completely missed the way that Simmons froze up in realization, a haunted look seeping onto his face as he turned slowly back towards the circle.

It's his partner who breaks the silence, as he demands, "Use the machine."

Grif furrows his brows at the change in tone but doesn't complain as he moves back towards the machine and saddles back into place. This time, he does get to activate it without interruption, and he maneuvers the machine to face the proper direction and starts to dig down into the dirt.

The ground shifts under the power of the machine and Simmons watches on as Grif begins to build a mountain of displaced dirt.

When he feels the machine hit something distinctively not earthen, Grif gestures towards Simmons to check it out, in case he needs to move more dirt.

Simmons hurries over, and glancing down into the gaping ditch, he gives Grif a thumbs up. Powering down the machine, Grif lounges over to the pit that he had created and stares inquisitively down at the metal box that he uncovered.

Looking for some sort of hatch or lid to the box, Grif jumps down onto of it, the metal hardly moving under his added weight. He walks along the top of it before he finds what he's looking for, and he doesn't hesitate with opening it.

Instantly the smell of rotting corpses filters into his nose, and it's so different than what he experienced at the factory that he recoils for only a second. He continued forward, poking his head into the box before grimacing and leaning out of it.

Simmons joins him down on top of the box, and he slips on some of the dirt, causing him to tumble somewhat into the box, one leg in the hatch.

Grif can tell the exact moment when his boot connects with the body and feels as though he should help Simmons scramble out of the entryway, as his haste makes him slip further into the hole.

After righting his stance, Simmons shivers and holds himself tightly while scrunching his eyes shut. "Please, please don't say that that's what I think it is."

Not wanting to lie, Grif opts to stay silent.

Shuddering, Simmons breathes uneasily as he calms down.

Not that the first look wasn't horrifying enough- two dead bodies would elicit that reaction from particularly everybody- but Grif ducked his head back inside to get a second glance.

Just given the way that they were buried more than six feet under in a sealed box, it doesn't take a genius to understand that the two men died of asphyxiation. But there are scratch marks that resemble claws more so than anything made by blunt human fingernails dug into the top body. The body underneath still has the first man’s hands wrapped tightly around it, and because of this Grif can't quite see the whole picture that is the man’s sunken in eyes, the dried and crusted blood emanating from his lips. He does, however, get to see the first man’s face in full view, his neck snapped at an unnatural angle. If he were to make a guess, the man on the bottom must have killed the one on top whilst being robbed of what little air they had to share left, but between the weight of the body crushing his lungs, he didn't have quite enough room to pull of the dead man’s hands.

And what's crazy to Grif, is not that this is the second time that he's been faced with the mortifying idea of his own mortality, but rather that the man on top is the same one that the Assets had killed in Kai-T8's dimension.

Maybe Grif should keep an eye out for anyone who looked like that man.

Finally stepping back from the box, Grif shook his head, "Damn, Dexter-T8 and Grif-W19 have the shittiest fucking luck."

Simmons' breath hitches, and while he doesn't look he does question, "Y- you mean...?"

"Yep," Grif confirms. "The second body is the same guy from the maintenance room from the first dimension."

"That's..." and Simmons trails off, likely at a loss for words.

"I think Felix-Z wanted us to find this," Grif kicks the hatch back down to block the gruesome sight from peering eyes. "I wouldn't put it past the sadistic fuck."

Simmons is quiet.

Peering at him, Grif doesn't know how to interpret the look on his face. "Simmons, you good?"

"Just thinking," he answers quietly.

"Wanna think away from the tomb?" he juts his thumb towards the top of the ditch.

He doesn't think he's gonna get an answer when Simmons quietly says, "Yeah."

With marginal difficulty, they climb out of the pit, and having gotten what they could from this area, make their way out of it.

But apparently, the noise from the excavator must have attracted someone's attention, because Simmons-W19 is right at the start of the clearing, with other duplicates that hold familiar faces to the two of them behind him.

Simmons-W19 sputters at the sight of them, "Wh- you  _ two?" _

Those behind him loudly question the sight of another Simmons, along with a few confused exclamations about what Grif was doing with said double, but they don't pause to make idle chat as they head back towards the city proper. They'd have to look closer or figure out how the Assets were avoiding leaving a dimensional residue trail because if they could pick up on when they were being led around by a noose sooner, they could finally catch up to them.

Intent on ignoring them, Grif itches to turn around and say,  _ 'Sorry, saying you'd find his corpse in a factory was a bit misleading. A ditch is what I meant to say.' _

He does get the displeasure of hearing their roaring clamoring, and since he's not looking in their direction, he doesn't get to see who finds the box itself. Or even who was brave enough to open it up.

They're still within distance to hear the screaming.

Unsurprisingly, this dimension ends up being a bust again. The only thing on Grif's mind is when they would get a fucking break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this dimension must have been very familiar to those who stuck around last year's Whumptober event! When I saw the prompt I was like, oh man I have to add more to the fic [Rather a Bullet Through the Head!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913743) This caused me to give this fic the name 'Muri Cinematic Universe AU' nickname in my head. It's super easy to bring back old AUs and fics when the premise of this one revolves around a multiverse.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	5. Where Do You Think You're Going

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Run | **Failed Escape** | **Rescue**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit shorter than usual but that's only because it's the penultimate chapter for the High Hopes Arc! I wanted to make sure that the repercussions of this altercation would be fully explored under tomorrow's prompts.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; failed escape, rescue, explosions, gunshots, implied/referenced suicide, mention of corpses_

There's something to be said for the fact that the only person who has died by the Assets hands so far has been Temple-T8. And even then, that could be considered a good thing- taking down a serial kidnapper and biological warfare maniac was a win for practically everyone. Grif still couldn't comprehend  _ why _ they did it, beyond leaving the quip to taunt Grif. But that didn't quite make sense either, considering Grif didn't know who the man was. Or the significance of the fact that his particular brand of crazy transcended multiple dimensions.

Nonetheless, they killed him and that world was better for it.

And yet, it didn't quite fit their modus operandi. One didn't get the moniker of dimension destroyer without obliterating a universe or two. The reasons for it were methodical, and often they would seek out dimensions that held some of the greediest motherfuckers to ever grace the living world to take up some job for monetary gain. Said money could then be exchanged for weaponry.

Considering that the Assets managed to evade the SEO's capture these past few dimensions, it really shouldn't come as a shock when the second he and Simmons exited the portal to the next universe and watched as a skyscraper exploded.

Being greeted by screaming and panic, Grif does his best to ignore all of the floundering people in search of Locus-X and Felix-Z. They had to be somewhere close if they were able to plant whatever explosive they had gained from previous dimensions into the building. And so close to where Grif and Simmons exited the portal.

Simmons gets slammed into by a frantic woman, and he's at least courteous enough to help lift her up, even when she doesn't thank him for his kind gesture and continues to run away from the rapidly crumbling building.

Smoke is painting the sky, and the residual heat from the blast toasts Grif's cheeks lightly. People are still flooding out of the building, and the sound of approaching emergency first responders can be heard from the distance as they rush to the scene.

Grif tilts his head up and watches as one of the floors collapses down onto another level. He can make out silhouettes of people still inside, failing in their attempts to escape the death trap that the building transformed into.

And then, in the distance, another skyscraper explodes.

The shock of a second building going up in flames causes the already panicked mob to turn into a stampede. More smoke fills the sky, and Grif stares up at it in suspicion. The likely reason is, of course, that a literal fucking bomb discharged in it. But the thick plumes are filling up the sky rather quickly, and Grif begins to reason that perhaps killing Temple-T8 did fit with their usual bill of actions.

Considering that they don't plan on sticking around to find out, Grif will never be able to confirm his suspicions without waiting to see if everyone who manages to survive this catastrophe develops an infection.

Simmons is completely focused on his HUD, and doing his best to avoid eye contact with the scrambling people running past them like water in a stream that parts for stones. Given the way he turns to a completely different building, Grif starts a mental count down in his head and is vindicated by it exploding just as he reaches  _ one. _

The pandemonium escalates.

"This way!" Simmons exclaims, grabbing his arm and pulling him in the opposite direction.

Now that they've joined the uproar, they have to avoid sobbing civilians and the further away they move from the three smoldering buildings, the softer the sounds of bodies hitting the pavement resonate. Emergency services cross their paths, but in all of the mayhem, nobody pays attention to the strangely dressed men running after an unseen suspect.

The city this time around resembles something appropriate for the twenty-first century, a far cry away from the sci-fi metropolis that the last dimension held. The denizens of this dimension reflect this with their state of dress, and that's what makes it easy to spot the Assets amongst the crowd.

They're wearing state of the art armor. Armor that resembles what the people in the other dimension wore.  _ Full body armor. _

Something that their DIME uniforms distinctly did not have.

Grif feels starkly uncovered when staring at Locus-X and Felix-Z.

One difference about the armor however is that they opted to not wear helmets- which, to Grif, didn't make all that much sense since you would think that the helmet would be the most important part of wearing armor in the first place.

They don't have time to call out to the two escapees when a knife whizzes past Simmons' face and draws a thin cut across his cheek, beads of red appearing just a second later.

Felix-Z smirks, and from fucking nowhere, he pulls out another knife. Somewhere along the line, Locus-X acquired a sniper rifle.

Oh, they were so  _ fucked. _

"Like our little performance?" Felix-Z questions. "Took a while to gather the supplies, but we wanted our big debut to be spectacular. Let everyone know that we're back in business and ready to accept commissions again."

Grif eyes their location and thinks about the fact that they're very much having this confrontation in public, with who knows how many eyes watching them. Knowing bystanders, they were probably filming this strange showdown.

"You'd willingly paint a bigger target on your back?" Grif questions. "You're just bringing the eye of other DIME officers onto you guys."

Giving a cocky smirk, Felix-Z toys with his knife and gives off an air of nonchalance, "What can I say, we like the challenge."

And just like a nervous tick- although Grif knows that the dick is very much not nervous at the moment- Felix-Z throws the knife up and down over and over again as sweat starts to build up on Grif's forehead.

Going to open his mouth, stalling for time while he thinks about what the fuck the two SEO's could do in this situation, Grif is shocked when a knife flies by his head and is even more astounded when he realizes that it was heading towards the Assets.

It passes by his head and knocks Felix-Z's knife right out of the air, the following clang sounding louder than the three bombs that they had set off.

Even Felix-Z looks as surprised as Grif feels, and the Pilot turns to see his Captain looking at the Assets with a hard set gaze. 

Taking the moment for what it was, Grif doesn't hesitate to pull out his neutralizer to incapacitate who he considers the more dangerous of the two-  _ Locus-X. _

But the brute just sidesteps the charge, having watched with more urgency than Felix-Z had and thus had seen Grif's most likely choreographed movements. And since the two of them had retaliated against the Assets, Locus-X had moved into what Grif would consider as  _ murder mode. _

Fearful, Grif fires charge after charge in the direction of the approaching killer. Locus-X avoids them all and considering that the man stalked forward as if he has all the time in the world he gets pretty damn close to Grif in what feels like a matter of seconds.

Grif jumps out of the way, which separates him and Simmons by a good distance, which seems to be exactly what the Assets wanted as Felix-Z lunges at his partner with a sadistic ferocity.

So while Simmons is left against the force that is McStabby, Grif is left to his own devices against a mountain of a man. And considering that Grif is not a combatant this is very much not good.

His first instinct is to start up a portal, wisps of yellow already seeping out from under his uniform as he runs away from neck wrenching distance. It'd be so easy to create a portal and return to the safety of his own dimension, and considering that the wisps continue to grow he very nearly does.

But then a usually silent part of his brain reminds him that if he did that, he'd be leaving  _ Simmons _ to deal with the Assets.  _ Alone. _

And this, in a way, breaks his psyche.

If it were  _ anyone _ else, Grif wouldn't have paused. He would have escaped the situation, and maybe- and that's a big fucking  _ maybe- _ come back with reinforcements or fuck.  _ Something. _

Simmons is different. Grif doesn't know why he is though.

It's because he's contemplating why Simmons can anchor him down like that, that Locus-X gets a cheap shot in and knocks Grif flat on his ass. That at least brings him back to his senses, enough to avoid a bullet shot where his head had previously been located.

Scrambling up, the wisps have disappeared, and he stumbles out of the area cleared of people, forcing Locus-X further away from his own partner. A glance towards Simmons shows that he's got a few more grazes, with some tears in his uniform, and he's looking a little worse for wear. Not that Grif is currently much better, running away from a villain with a  _ long-distance gun and oh he's an idiot. _

The crowd has mostly disappeared by this point, with good reason too considering that he was straying closer to the crumbling buildings.

Locus-X advances upon him when Grif trips over a splattered body on the sidewalk.

Grif really thinks that that's the end of him, his neutralizer is out of charges to fire, and he has no other way to defend himself. His brain is still stuck in a loop of wanting to get the fuck out of this dimension into the next versus being unable to leave Simmons behind like that.

Surprisingly, Grif is rescued by the very collapsing building that Locus-X had caused, a good chunk of the support finally bending under the weight of the shifted structure and causing multiple walls and floors to separate the two dimension travelers.

Taking the chance to get back up, and ignoring the way his cream-colored uniform was stained red by the blood painted on the sidewalk, Grif scrambles away from the newly formed wall of rubble. He fumbles for his neutralizer, replacing the ammo with fresh charges with shaking fingers that couldn't be nimble even if he steadied it with his other hand.

But the Asset doesn't climb over the rubble to kill Grif, and that unnerves Grif far too much. His eyes constantly flit to the surrounding buildings, anything that could be used as a vantage point for the sniper.

The longer he stays out in the clearing, the more paranoid he got. To ease his mind, he decided to say  _ fuck it _ and climb over the debris himself to provide some sort of support for Simmons.

Grabbing a hold of chunks of the skyscraper, he lifts himself onto the uneasy ledge. Hauling himself to the top, he almost falls back down as the pieces shifted, and he practically rolls off of the top to slide down the other side.

There's a thick layer of dust still settling, and the smoke hasn't disappeared yet, and he wouldn't expect it to considering that the three buildings are  _ still _ in the process of deteriorating. Loud sirens blare in the background, and he can't find the sight of Locus-X.

Bringing his neutralizer closer to his chest, his chest rising and falling as he breathed through his nose due to pressing his lips firmly together.

He can't hear any sounds of fighting. This was probably a bad thing. Grif couldn't exactly see a scenario where Simmons- scrawny, nerd, kissass Simmons- could take on a dimensional criminal that was good enough to escape from prison. Grif certainly wouldn't be able to do it himself.

And he's proven exactly right when not a moment later a bullet pierces right through his calf and he gasps out in pain as he crumbles down to the ground, heading smashing against the concrete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU Grif's weakness is Simmons but he doesn't understand _why_ and now all he's gonna recognize those conflicting emotions with is getting shot. 
> 
> Super excited for the end of this arc, the next one is called the Universal Punishment Arc and should start a bigger tone shift with a somewhat bigger cast of characters too.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	6. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Get it Out" | **No More** | **"Stop, Please"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what's this? A flashback chapter? Haha, yes, yes it is indeed. It's also the last chapter in the High Hopes Arc! Tomorrow starts the Universal Punishment Arc!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; bullying, violence, disordered thinking, descriptions of physical abuse_

_ Dexter Grif was a strange child. That was the only thing that adults seemed to agree upon when it came to him. _

_ His teachers thought he was distressingly unmotivated and lazy, and at such a young age too. They would often pull him aside during recess to start the same drivel about why it was important to participate in class and chastise him because he wasn't doing his homework. He would absorb none of this, and rarely ever thought it over as soon as he was out of the classroom. _

_ To his peers, he was just the weird kid who didn't say much and napped all the time- during class, during lunch, whenever. He wouldn't engage with them when they asked if he wanted to play and often had a snide look on his face whenever he thought people weren't looking. _

_ But everyone agrees, there's just something up about him. _

_ "We're worried that he's not developing socially alongside the other children," his kindergarten teacher brought up in concern to his mother when she came to pick him up one day. _

_ His mother, of course, was anything but sober during it, and promptly disregarded everything they tried to address because, "No, not my Dexter. He's such a good kid- and he'll be an even better big brother when his sibling is born." _

_ His teachers are never satisfied with her waving them off, but seem slightly mollified at hearing that a sibling would be introduced to the household. He overheard them talking about how being an older sibling could be exactly what was needed to make him more sociable. _

_ Dexter doesn't get what the big deal is. Whenever he sees his mother waddling around because of her ever-expanding belly, he understands that a brand new person is growing inside of her. But he doesn't feel anything else. _

_ And when Kaikaina is born and brought home from the hospital, Dexter comes back from staying his distant and callous grandparents. He enters the house and his skin prickles as the hair on the back of his neck stands up, and he instantly knows that someone new is in the house. _

_ His mother drags him by the hand to the crib that she set up in his room and shows him his sister for the first time. _

_ He looks down at the- in his opinion at the time- ugly creature. There's a five year age gap between him and her, and to him that means something. But he knows that his mother is looking at him expectantly, so he simply stands on his tippy-toes, grabs onto the fence of the crib and points down at his little sister and says, albeit monotonously, "Baby," to let his mother know that he is aware of what exactly that squirming and scrunched up beast is. _

_ Considering how his mother beams at him, he's given enough of a reaction to Kaikaina to leave the room after without getting yelled at. _

_ Dexter's opinion of Kaikaina does get better the older she gets. He begins to think of her less as a wild animal that followed his mother home that he had to tolerate, and more of a larvae type being that'll start to resemble something distinctly more child-like as she grows older. _

_ Kai is everything that he is not at that age. Her kindergarten teachers, who once taught the class that Dexter was in, have nothing but kind words to say for the loud, rambunctious, and otherwise happy child. When Dexter sits in on parent-teacher conferences, he can hear them remark happily that Kaikaina is making many friends, and never shies away from playing with their peers. And when the time is up, they greet him at the entrance to the classroom and ask him how he's enjoying fifth grade to which he gives them a non-committal grunt. School is the same, no matter the grade. _

_ He elects to ignore the tightness of their smiles and the way their eyes pinch at his responses or the low mutter under their breath that he hasn't 'improved.'  _

_ There's one day where everything changes. _

_ He walks down the elementary school halls to head towards the kindergarten rooms. But as he approaches the exit he can hear familiar sniffling and muffled sobs. _

_ It doesn't increase his pace out the doors, but he stops just shy of his sister being crowded by three of snot-nosed brats, and they're laughing at her. _

_ From what he can tell, they're making fun of how mismatched her clothing is, and when she tries to speak up and say she can't help it, she's colorblind, they just laugh even harder. Thick globs of tears stream down her face, and Dexter distantly remembers getting ragged on by his peers at that age too and figures it's a good lesson to help her get thicker skin. _

_ Until one of the kids reaches out and yanks- hard- on one of her pigtails. _

_ It's like a light switch is flipped in Dexter's brain, and for a moment all he sees is red before his vision starts to come into focus and he finds himself on top of the kid who pulled her hair, the brat's face a bloody and mewling mess cut off as his fist lands another blow, already having been in the motion by the time that he returns to himself. _

_ "Stop, please," the kid says through a mouthful of blood, and Dex finds that he doesn't care and goes back for another strike. _

_ Teachers are swarming him in an instant, and he wonders where the fuck they were earlier when his sister was getting teased. They drag him to the principal’s office, Kai hot on their heels.  _

_ He has to stay an entire hour in that dingy office, stone-faced as the principal reprimands him, red-faced at all of the yelling that he's doing. Dex's mother is called in, and this is the only time in his entire life that he can remember her being pale at being told that there is something distinctly wrong with her son for him to pounce on a small five-year-old and wail into him. _

_ The booze is flushed right out of her system with the shock, and they spend another hour making false platitude's about how it'll never happen again, they swear it won't. _

_ His mother slams the door to the car when they're finally home, and a hand is pressed firmly against her mouth as she holds back her vomit. They had passed by the kid on their way out, and Dexter is shocked she managed to keep the bile in for that long. _

_ "What," she starts, lowering her hand away from her face. "Am I going to do with you?" _

_ And Dexter doesn't know- truly, he really doesn't. He can't even begin to explain his actions. Because that was his sister. His. What was he supposed to do- stand around and watch as she got bullied. Kids would think twice before messing with her ever again now. _

_ Kai is shaking like a leaf the entire time, and considering that they share a room, she manages to avoid looking at him for a long time. Dexter wonder if she's scared of him. _

_ But apparently not, considering halfway through the night she shuffles under the covers of his bed and presses her forehead firmly against his back, and asking him why he would protect her like that. _

_ He ignores her and slips back asleep. _

_ After that incident, there's not a single person in the elementary school that looks at him and doesn't think 'monster.' _

_ Before, he was poor, strange, unsociable Dexter Grif. Now he's Dexter Grif, the kid who has no qualms with beating the shit out of a toddler for even looking at his sister the wrong way. _

_ For such a long time, he thinks that there's something wrong with his brain. Because it was like when he had figured out what a light switch was as a kid, except he wasn't the one flipping it anymore. He was just the poor overused light-bulb that was left on long enough to overheat and the left to darkness just as quick. _

_ He can't explain why, but for the rest of that year, he was prone to outbursts of anger, fits of violence that had no warning or prerequisite for why. His peers walked on eggshells around him, because even the littlest thing could have him snapping at their necks. _

_ Dexter visited the principal’s office enough times that he became very acquainted with the secretary, who regarded him with cold indifference and snapped at him to eat his food when he had lunch detention. _

_ And it doesn't end in elementary school, he can't shed behind the reputation that he's made for himself, because of the way the school district worked. Practically everyone from his grade moves on to the same middle school, and then the same high school. In each school, the rumors of his aggression follow him, except by this point he's figured out that he can't act out. _

_ Not after his mother finally snapped and had a fit herself, yelling and screaming and throwing things in his direction, about how, "You can't just act like this, Dexter!" _

_ His classmates notice he hasn't acted out, but they interpret it like a bomb waiting to go off at first, thinking that the longer he goes without attacking one of them the greater the explosion will be when he lashes out unprovoked. It doesn't take them as long as he thought it would to realize that he's not going to pounce at one of them. _

_ That's when the bullying starts. In his efforts to not act out, he's become an easy target. Because they seemed to realize that he's been on thin ice, and any outbursts will be recorded down on his academic file now. Doing anything could jeopardize his chances of getting into a college. _

_ They make fun of him for his weight, for being poor, they even throw a few jabs at his sister- who's become even more ditsy and idiotic, now that she has the shadow of her vitriolic older brother looming over her, acting out and showing that she's not a threat, look at how silly and stupid she is!- when they test the waters and see that it won't make him act out if they do so. _

_ He takes the abuse and blocks it out. Dexter doesn't let the thoughts of wanting to snap back at them consume him and finds himself indulging in his other vices of sloth and gluttony. These new teachers, who weren't informed of what a problem child he is, only sees a troubled teen slipping into a depressive slump. They pull him aside like his elementary school teachers used to do before the incident and ask if everything's ok at home. _

_ The answer, of course, is that it isn't. Considering that he finally pushed his mother over the edge when drugs and alcohol and cigarettes couldn't, and she finally called it quits handing Kai off into his waiting arms, citing that if he wanted to act like her rabid guard dog then he could have full reign. _

_ But that's not what's wrong with him. He doesn't know what is. And, of course, because adults are ever so helpful, nobody else knows either. _

_ He's Dexter Grif, apathetic, lazy, with a past record that indicates a propensity for violence, and something about all of this makes the DIME want him. _

_ The Corps didn't waste a single second after sending him his draft notice, and they swoop him up while he's still dazed. The meager and few belongings in his apartment are sent ahead of him and the first thing they make him do is sit down for an interview. As if to mimic some facsimile of applying for a job when he was being shoehorned into it. _

_ "Our records show that you had multiple cited instances of unprovoked assaults during your years in elementary school," they point out to them. "Why is that?" _

_ He has no idea why they would bring that up when clearly it's not gonna stop them from dragging him into their bullshit, so he answers as honestly as he can get, "No particular reason. I'm sure you've already read reports about them." _

_ There's a little upturn to the agent’s lips, and they merely shuffle the papers, and say, "Yes, surely." _

_ And it goes on like that for a good fifteen minutes, with the interviewer nitpicking on little details about his past and showing him the analysis that they pulled up on his character. _

_ "Why, if you seem to have so much shit to say about me, do you even want me in your stupid organization," he grinds his teeth together, and clenches his fist into his thigh, wondering if he pisses off the agent in front of him he would get kicked out. _

_ "Because, Mr. Grif, we here at DIME aren't so easily scared off by a few behavioral problems," they pick up their obnoxious teacup and take a sip from it. "In fact, we find it endearing and a good quality in our officers." _

_ Two officers enter and Grif supposed that they must have been summoned by some sort of button underneath the desk. Without giving Grif a second glance, the agent told them, "Straight to Medical. He fits the profile of a Pilot." _

_ And that was that. They dragged him to an operating room, and he's just one body amongst a sea of others, and he realizes that they must gather new recruits in batches. He doesn't even get a chance to question what the hell a Pilot is before they administer mild anesthesia and begin the process of attaching an exoskeleton to his nervous system, the cold metal fusing with his skin and humming as soon as everything snaps together, and it feels like his nerves are on fire. _

_ There's no resting period during the initial conditioning of being a DEO. They prep the Pilots, and send them on their merry way, even as half of the people who shared an operating room with Grif collapsed in a puddle of their own vomit on their way to the dorms where they are to stay for the rest of their miserable employment with DIME. The ones who grin and bear the pain are the ones who scare Grif the most because he's in pain and he's trembling on unsteady legs. But he doesn't show any of this on his face until he sequestered away in his room where he lets out pitiful mewls as he resists the urge to claw at his skin and rip out his spine. _

_ That was the first step to being brought into the thick of the DIME Corps. _

_ The next step was the conditioning. Training to withstand the creaking strain against his spine that practically held hands with the process of directing of dimensional energy to create portals. Working on his stamina, to the point where some of his body fat is exchanged for lean muscle, and he begins to hate looking in the mirror for too long lest he falls into a spiral of depersonalization. _

_ The training to withstand the effects of the neutralizer hurts the most. _

_ "Again," the instructor commands and another charge is fired into Grif's chest as his training partner- a tall man with cybernetic enhancements- stares down at him with a grimace. Grif's body isn't the only one the collapses to the floor, and as his body starts to lock up, his teeth grazing his tongue and pressing down as his body convulses, Grif can only think about how that kid from so long ago looked after Grif wailed into him. _

_ And then he can only think no more. Please, no more. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm dropping hints that DIME AU Grif has disordered thinking and is not a good person  
> Me: *drops this chapter* 
> 
> I took _some_ inspiration from my own childhood. I had behavioral problems myself, starting from a pretty young age too. Obviously not to the extent of what happens here to Grif, but in kindergarten, I stabbed a kid with a pencil, in first grade, I actively lied and stole money and then had outbursts in class when accused of lying, I would get into frequent fights, often unprovoked such as when a friend merely reached out to touch a project of mine and the next minute I was aiming straight for her cast to knock her off her crutches, amongst other outbursts. I was intimately familiar with the principal and the secretary. This all stopped after fifth grade, but not really for good reasons, haha. But yeah, behavioral issues gang.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	7. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Support | **Carrying** | Enemy to Caretaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't really feeling this chapter, but I had to get it out, ya know? Can't stop now while I'm on a roll!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; carrying, wound mention, implied death_

The first time Grif met Simmons- truly met him- was after all of their conditioning training was done. The other man had approached him and apologized profusely for being the unlucky bastard partnered up with him during neutralizer tolerance building. Grif thought he was annoying and a kissass before being approached, but this only cemented in his mind that he was an idiot to boot too.

"Why are you apologizing," he had told him. "It's not like you wanted to."

As soon as all the conditioning was done, Grif was moved from his dorm into the SEO barracks after getting his branch assignment. To his great surprise, the red-haired man was his roommate.

And of course, somehow, they had ended up as a Captain and Pilot pair. 

From there, it seemed like their relationship- if you could even call it that- was rocky at best, caustic at worst. They bickered constantly, and compared to the other people they had been with during conditioning, they were the most unbalanced Captain and Pilot partnership.

But over time that changed, and the words out of both of their mouths became less bitter and more teasing. Warmth seeped into Simmons' tone, and Grif found himself- for the first time in his entire life- indulging in a bond with someone other than one commanded by blood.

Grif doesn't know why he's remembering these details about Simmons, as he lays prone on the concrete. Maybe it's the lingering sensation that he's bleeding out, maybe it's the way his leg is starting to go numb, or maybe it's even the somewhat blurry figure approaching him that somewhat reminded him of his partner.

Fuck, his vision is starting to blur and fade at the edges. Knowing that he's certainly creeping closer to death, Grif can feel the chip in his head start to throb uncomfortably. The centralizer on his back begins to whir dangerously and small shocks cause him to twitch. He knows that his pin will send off a message back to DIME that Grif has died, and as soon as it did that it would overcharge the exoskeleton, rendering it useless to anyone that tried to pry it off of his dead body.

He's so far gone that he doesn't recognize or feel the hands gently prodding at his dying body. His vision has unfocused completely and his eyes flutter close as he contemplates just slipping into unconsciousness to let this whole thing be done and over with.

Mumbles enter one ear and go out the other, the words incomprehensible through his hazed mind.

Then someone starts to move his body. Lifting his chest up and propping it against something- there must be two people present, otherwise, this wouldn't be possible- before hefting him up and into someone's arms. 

He's being carried away, and he isn't coherent enough to wonder who it is exactly that is doing an early corpse robbing. The thrum of his exoskeleton continues on, and if it worries the people kidnapping him, they don't say- not that he would understand the words anyway.

Grif blacks out as soon as a face enters his obscured vision, and he drifts off to thoughts of where Simmons might be, and whether or not Felix-Z had stabbed him in the face or not.

When he wakes up, the first thing that pops into his mind is that he's not dead. Or- if he  _ is _ dead, then hell looks suspiciously a lot like a shitty rundown apartment building. The bed he's in is dips with his weight and he can feel the springs against his sore and spasming back. The blanket is scratchy as hell, worn down too if his refocusing eyes have anything to say about it.

So probably not hell. And definitely not a hospital. And considering that it's neither he really has no idea what's going on.

His eyes drift to the side, and he can see his battered and bloodied uniform off to the side.

A chair was pulled up beside the bed, and Grif stares back at himself.

This is the first time he's been faced with a double of himself that wasn't dead or a corpse.

Confronted with this, Grif is annoyed that he can't pull up the dimension designation for this world in his memories. So calling this version of himself a Null will have to do.

"So," the Dexter-Null starts, licking his lips nervously as he stares at Grif. "Either you're my long lost twin or something really weird is going on."

Grif ignores him for the minute, instead, propping himself up and shifting the blanket so he can get a good look at his wounded leg. Someone- likely the Null in front of him- dressed his wound. The wrappings aren't stained red, so he supposes that he must have also dug the bullet out of Grif and closed the wound.

His chest is bare, however. And the Null can clearly see his exoskeleton on display- and he's been eyeing it for some time now too.

Seeing that Grif wasn't going to respond to him, Dexter-Null shifts uncomfortably and says, "Yeah, uh, me and Dick found you just lying on the street with a bullet wound-"

"Is today still the same day," Grif interrupts him, needing to know how much time has passed since he fell unconscious.

"Yeah," Dexter-Null confirms. "The buildings collapsed not long after we dragged you back here. We were originally going to take you to the hospital, but considering the, uh,  _ attack _ we figured it wouldn't be a good idea. What with your weird robo-attachments."

That was good. He could work with that. All he needed to do was re-establish communications with Simmons, and they could get back to the mission. That is, if Simmons is still alive. 

He goes to slide off of the bed but pauses when his feet are planted on the apartment floor. Dexter-Null looks apprehensive at his movements, and Grif doesn't blame him for it, considering the Pilot could be a very dangerous individual. Why he would even bother to bring Grif in and save his life, he'll never understand. It seemed like an extremely thoughtless decision.

There's another Null waiting at the doorway to the room, nervous as he adjusts his cardigan.

The Richard-Null addresses Dexter-Null but his eyes linger on Grif, "Oh good, he's awake. I was getting worried for a moment there."

Dexter-Grif turns to give Grif a look, telling him, "Dick's a nurse in training. That's how he knew what to do to help with the bullet wound."

"Cool. Don't care," Grif grunts, standing on unsteady legs. The pain is manageable, not pleasant in the slightest, but nothing he hasn't experienced before. "Just give me all my shit back and I'll be out of your hair."

The two Nulls look at each other and exchange a silent conversation. Whatever they're thinking must've been a point of conflict considering Richard-Null's face becomes closed off, whereas Dexter-Null seems indifferent. 

"Are you me from like, some alternate reality?" Dexter-Null drawls, but his eyes gleam with curiosity.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Grif grits out, hobbling to where the upper-half of his uniform is, pulling on the dress shirt and buttoning it mindlessly.

"Uh, yeah I would considering I asked and all," the double rolls his eyes. "You're so fucking lame. The first sign that sci-fi bullshit might actually be real and you're bleeding or passed out for half of it, and an asshole the other half."

"Sorry to disappoint, but as a Grif, you must be used to that already," he's doing his best to exude annoyance as much as possible, and given that the Simmons double takes a tentative step back he's sure that it's working on everyone who's not himself. He slips on his overcoat, working on those buttons with fumbling fingers as his hand starts to shake because the pain in his leg is starting to become a little less tolerable.

"You- you really shouldn't be getting up this quickly," Richard-Null informs him, a small hint of confidence in his voice that Grif instinctively wants to squish out. "You should be keeping pressure  _ off _ of the wound, not doing everything you can to add more."

"Not everyone can lounge around while people are dead and dying," he throws out, satisfied with the flinch on both of their plain faces. "In case you missed it, three buildings collapsed. I'm tasked with trying to find the assholes who did it, so I need to go now before I lose their trail."

"The attacks were caused by people from a different dimension," interest reflects itself within Dexter-Null's dull eyes. "What makes our dimension so special that they'd want to do that?"

"There's nothing special at all about your dimension," Grif tells him coldly, finishing putting on his uniform by pulling on his gloves. "You're all an infinitesimal speck of sand in the multiverse. The only thing that could be considered special about you is that your luck is so astronomically bad that this is the place they ended up deciding to blow sky high."

He pats around to make sure that he still has his neutralizer- which is thankfully still fully loaded, meaning these idiots haven't fucked around and messed with it- and his communication rod, which he promptly attaches to the side of his head so that he can start back up communications.

The HUD that pops up glitches once, then twice, and then stabilizes. And considering that he has a flood of messages from at least ten people, he thinks it's safe to say that shit has hit the fan back in his own dimension. But, on the bright side, most of his missed messages are from Simmons, with the latest one dating to an hour ago.

Ignoring the whispered,  _ 'So cool,' _ from the doubles, Grif sends a quick message to Simmons telling him in short that he's alive, and well, and that he needs to know if the Assets have left this dimension yet, considering that it's late enough in the day that they must be preparing for the next crossing.

Instantly he gets an affirmative from Simmons, saying that he lost track of them, but no new residue has popped up, meaning that they had time to meet back up with each other.

Closing out the HUD, but keeping the communication rod on standby, he brushes past the doubles and makes his way towards the exit of the apartment. Moving further into the living space, he ignores the desk to one side piled high with medical textbooks and an abandoned notebook highlighted by a small desk lamp. The table in front of the TV has two coasters set out with abandoned mugs on top of it. The TV itself is playing a news ad detailing the bombings from earlier in the day, but Grif doesn't care to listen as the newscaster starts to read off the dreary death statistics.

Eyeing the apartment door, he makes his way over to it but is interceded by a distressed Richard-Null. 

"I cannot stress this enough, you shouldn't be on your feet right now, and if you're really Dexter then you should be taking any chance you have to rest and do nothing, especially if it's to get out of work that sounds dangerous," the double in front of him sweats nervously, most likely due to the foreboding aura Grif is trying to push out.

Not wanting to harm the person who had oh so generously attended to him in his moment of weakness, Grif only tells him flatly to, "Move out of my way."

Richard-Null's lips are pressed firmly together, but he eventually steps to the side, and Grif finishes making his way back towards the apartment door.

Before Grif can lay a hand on the knob, the double tells him, "I don't know what it is, but I can tell you're  _ nothing _ like my Dexter."

Removing his hand away from the door, Grif throws his head back at the Null to hear more of what he has to say.

"And you know all of this from my being awake for- what? Five, maybe ten minutes?" he quirks an eyebrow at the other, wanting to know what gave him the idea that he could speak to Grif in such a manner.

"It's your face. That's what gives you away," as Richard-Null proclaims this, Dexter-Null shuffles into the living space, standing back as he watches the preceding with tired eyes. "Dexter- he- you may seem like him, with how you don't care, and I've certainly gathered that much so far. But you're face betrays nothing, not even a hint that maybe you do care underneath, and I just don't get it."

The room is silent, and that pushes the Null to continue, "But Dex uses his apathy to hide his real feelings. It's a shield for him. What's your excuse?"

Grif thinks about how his Simmons seemed to be an exception to him. About who he'd give a shit about. But then he remembers how that also seemed to be a weakness for him. Such as when he worried about his partner during his solo match against Locus-X. His thoughts drifted away from himself- his own survival- to the survival of the other, and look where that got him. A hole in his leg.

And considering that Simmons had sent him plenty of messages, it seemed as though he was able to hold his own against the Assets. His efforts and energy were wasted on the other.

Just like how they'd be wasted here, talking to a Null who didn't know him- that compared him to the other lackluster, pathetic, and somehow even more useless than Grif, version of himself. It just infuriated him, being judge all of again for what people thought of him. Nobody would ever understand Grif the way he understood himself. Certainly not some random Nulls.

"It's funny how that all works," his words are clipped and laced with poison. "A key point about different dimensions is that the people in them are fundamentally different. I may share the same name, have a similar face, but I am nothing like  _ your _ Dexter, and he certainly could never hope to be anything like me."

His words have hit their mark, and both the Nulls are uncomfortable at the barbs.

But in regaining some confidence and pluck, Richard-Null leaves him with, "Then I'm fucking grateful I got stuck with the infinitely superior Dexter and not you." He promptly storms out of the living space to somewhere else in the apartment.

Dexter-Null looks as though he would rather be anywhere else, and Grif knows that he has overstayed his welcome.

He doesn't thank them for possibly saving his life, not that they would deserve it if he did, all they did was prolong the inevitable now that Grif's had the smallest taste of death at the hands of Locus-X.

Grif has shit to get done. And he needs to find the quivering mess that's become of the Captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to have a chapter to juxtapose Grif-10 with a living Grif-Null. He just keeps ending up seeing dead versions of himself. Also wanted to stress how much different this Grif is characterized compared to literally every other Grif.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	8. Where Did Everybody Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't Say Goodbye" | **Abandoned** | **Isolation**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I'm sure you all can guess what universe it may revolve around given the prompts, wink wink.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; abandoned, isolation, violence, use of shock weaponry, mention of wounds_

As soon as Captain and Pilot are reunited, it's straight back to business for both of them. Sure, Grif has read all of Simmons' messages. But after coming to the realization that Simmons was a distraction, he aims to keep the other man at arm’s length going forward.

Which isn't easy, considering that Simmons clearly wants to talk about and address the near-death experience that kept Grif radio silent for practically the entire day. But Grif doesn't know what more there is to discuss beyond the fact that it was a wasted and failed attempt at retrieving the Assets. If there's ever been proof that the two of them are just not up to the task, the last dimension was it.

Yet, somehow, they keep going forward. Because, as Grif suspects, neither of them prefer the looming doom behind their backs if they were to return empty-handed.

Following behind and into the new dimension- designation S15- Grif almost relaxes at being greeted by an empty and calm beach. The waves are lapping at the shore, and gazing around, he finds that there are no protruding buildings or even people milling about. A very big contrast to the graveyard of a city from last time.

But, something about the lack of people or buildings sits uncomfortably like lead in his stomach. Maybe it's because- even in T8's dimension, there were still signs of life. But here? At least from where they're standing, there's nothing. It's abandoned in a way that feels unnatural.

Simmons walks up the beach towards the grassland, and he gives a small but hearty laugh.

"Flatlands," he explains, hope filling his eyes. "There's no possible way that they can hide here. Nowhere to snipe from. No dirty, underhanded tricks. This could be it."

Making his way over to where Simmons is standing- and limping all the while, fuck he should have grabbed some sort of pain killers from Richard-Null's place- Grif remarks, "Don't say it. It won't happen if you get cocky on the multiverse."

"I know, but..." the Captain's voice trails off, eyes flitting towards Grif's wrapped leg. "It'd be nice. If we got this done and over with."

"I'm just amazed that they managed to capture these two fuckers the first time," Grif hisses as he slows to a stop. "They're slippery like eels, and their time in prison hasn't made them any less adept at their bullshit."

"I don't remember who managed to catch them in the end," Simmons admits, charging on ahead, intently focused on following the trail. "I'm not shocked though. No one really ever gets accolades when we make arrests."

"Thank the heavens for that, I don't think I could handle any fame that would have come from getting these two assholes back in jail," he's doing his best to keep up, even with every step sending a jolt straight into his bones. "If we manage to do it at all."

"Of course  _ you _ would be pessimistic about this," the Captain rolls his eyes.

As they move further inland, they can see some sort of high-tech ship loitering about. Considering the fact that it's still, and there's no ramp to board it, they only outright dismiss it as a hiding place for the Assets on the account there's no trail at all.

Grif does give it a cursory walk around, just to be on the safe side. And if he takes a moment to grimace in pain when out of eyesight of Simmons then that is his business and no one else's.

The area turns out to not be completely flat. There are a few cliffs and small mountains, but they're so far out of reach, that even a sniper would not be able to hit them from here. Most confusing, however, is the weirdly constructed houses- so far the only sign of habitation in this dimension.

The first one that they checked is barren of both people and the Assets. Remarkably clean, however, for an otherwise abandoned area.

Moving towards the next building, they enter it as quietly as they had the first and actually pause at hearing a low murmur from deeper within. So there are people here.

Both of them inch towards their neutralizers, having them on the ready. This could be their chance to get a jump on the two criminals, considering that the sounds haven't stopped. They must not have noticed their presence within the building. This was good- more than good in fact.

Their assumption that this is where the Assets are hiding out, is proven right given that they can hear the very distinctive voice- one that is surely going to haunt Grif's nightmares for at least a month, it's one that makes his leg throb and heat up, his face starting to sweat slightly at the reminder of how close he had gotten to dying- of Locus-X.

Pulling out both of their neutralizers, they linger at the entryway of the larger room within the structure.

Now that they're closer, they're within distance to pick up, "Just so you're aware, we're likely in for a fight."

Fuck. Ok, maybe, just maybe, the Assets  _ did _ know that Grif and Simmons were hot on the ass, or maybe they even knew that they were waiting for them right at this very moment. And considering that Simmons looks just as panicked as he feels, it's no surprise that they don't even give Felix-Z the time to respond before jumping out with neutralizers primed and ready to fire.

Neither Grif nor Simmons takes a moment to assess their surroundings before they both converge on Locus-X, who's the only one visible at the moment, and fire two charges straight into his chest.

To Grif's shock, the charges actually land a hit- fuck, maybe they  _ did _ have the element of surprise for once. He almost feels like he's in a dream as he watches Locus-X crumble to the floor, the electric shock forcing him to his knees, a muffled sound of pain filling the room.

Knowing that the paralyzing agent would act soon, and  _ twice _ the normal charge would be enough to take down the biggest of criminals, Grif and Simmons whirl around to face the other occupant in the room.

Whereas Locus-X was wearing the same exact armor that they had last seen him in, Felix-Z must have changed into a different pair, going from a primarily grey suit of armor with orange trimmings to one that was just pure orange.

Felix-Z practically jumps right out of his armor with how he leaps back and away from the two of them, and Grif's about to pull the trigger when he speaks, "What the fuck?!"

That... was not Felix-Z's voice. It was Grif's.

Ok, surprising, sure, but they must have been holding this Null hostage. Glancing around the room, Grif can't exactly see where the actual Felix-Z could have hidden, but unless he left Locus-X behind as bait or whatever, the Pilot knows he must be skulking around somewhere.

The SEO does make eye contact with multiple, and he means  _ multiple _ volleyballs. Painted ones. That bore a resemblance to the helmet style that the Grif-Null had on.

There's another helmet propped up on the table, this one brown, and Grif was almost perplexed about why a random one would be laying about until it spoke out, and exclaimed,  _ "¡Alarma!" _

Lowering his neutralizer, something he would have to scold himself about later, he shares a bewildered expression with Simmons.

Locus-X, and fuck now Grif's actually starting to question if that's even him, hasn't said anything which means the paralyzer worked its magic.

The Grif in front of him, Grif-S15, is flailing about as he begins to rant, "Gah! I knew it, I freaking  _ knew _ it! I can't even trust my sense of touch anymore because I could have sworn that Locus was real, but he's not, because there's no way he'd get taken down so easily, and he reacted to these two new hallucinations which  _ must _ mean that he's one as well and-"

"Jesus fucking Christ we got the wrong guy," Simmons growls out, palming his face.

Grif-S15 ignored him, continuing to pace rapidly and gesticulate with his hands, "-How low have I fallen? Why couldn't I have just been satisfied with Volley Simmons? Now I'm making up weird and confusing things just to- what? Satisfy my imagination before I die of boredom? I've gotten so lonely that I've even gone so far as to hallucinate a copy of  _ myself-" _

Yeah. This is starting to become a combination of annoying, humiliating, and pathetic. 

Walking up to his double, Grif smacks him sharply across the face, cracking his head to the side. The part of Grif that he has to keep a tight leash on purrs at the action, and he figures that it's a good enough substitute to the rage that has been slowly building with each failure.

Because, seriously? Dimension after dimension it's just one failure after another. Not only that, but the Nulls they keep interacting with are so pitiful and exude inadequateness when compared to himself. It almost makes him feel reverent for his own universe and the DIME because at least he hasn't ended up dead, useless, or like the Grif before him, insane.

Grif-S15 brings a hand up to his helmet as if confirming that he truly had gotten hurt.

"As you can see, I'm very much  _ not _ a hallucination," Grif tells him.

The double is silent, but stupidly challenged his statement with, "Unless I hit myself and just pretended that it was someone else doing it."

Groaning, and he considers it a lost cause and walks over to the Locus double.

This, at least, is an interesting development. They hadn't yet encountered Asset-Nulls. Truthfully, he isn't sure how they're meant to proceed with this. This Locus could very well also be some sort of asshole, maybe even a burgeoning Dimension Criminal himself.

Or maybe not. Grif certainly didn't hold any characteristics with other versions of himself.

Grif-S15 has gone quiet, probably observing the two of them now, and maybe Grif actually did manage to get through his asinine drivel. 

"So, obviously we fucked up," Grif tells his Captain.

"No shit," Simmons snaps. "Dammit! This should have been  _ it." _

"Well it's not, so what do we do now?" Grif asks. "Continue looking for them?"

The Captain nodded his head, starting to say, "We'd be idiots not-"

"Oh fuck you're real!" Grif-S15 interrupts him, having finally loaded the realization that he should have gotten after Grif smacked him. "Like- what the fuck?"

The helmet, or whatever it was, spoke up- speaking Spanish, and what was up with that?- and then the Null became guarded, taking a better grip on his weapon.

"I have a question for you two if you don't mind," the Null keeps a level voice, but his stance has turned wary and hostile. "Do either of you know who Temple is?"

Immediately, the two of them recoil, and Grif has both hands firmly on his neutralizer as he demands, "You've got to be fucking kidding me, is that bastard here?"

The hostility leaves the Null’s form and is replaced with instant confusion instead, "Uh, wait- no that's what  _ I'm _ supposed to- so, wait, you aren't a part of the Blues and Reds?"

"You guys have that here? Also don't say it like that it sounds weird," Simmons' face scrunched up at the ordering. "I think this might be the first dimension that actually brought up red or blue anything."

"Dimension?" Grif-S15 asked but was bowled over when Grif said, "Who cares about that? Did you not hear him, he fucking brought up that bitch Temple! I am not in the mood to have the multiversal restraining order violated so soon after just getting it- I am not taking any chances. Knowing about the other Nulls that bitch is likely not far behind to slaughter this one's ass."

"Nulls- slaughter-" the double made a sound as if he were going to puke. "This shit's messing with my head and I have had less than an hour of sleep, I do not need a migraine this early in the day."

Faintly recognizing that his face  _ still _ feels hot and that his leg has gone numb, Grif's inclined to agree with the double's plight.

"How about-" Simmons' voice warbled as it got stuck in his throat in his frustration. "We just- talk this out. Real quick."

Glancing down at the still form of Locus-S15, Grif nudges the body lightly with his boot to ask, "Should we wait for the effects to wear off then?"

"I don't know if we have the time for that," Simmons looks at the Null. "Are there currently any ways out of this area? This is a time-sensitive question."

"Er, no. There's no way off of this moon," Grif-S15 answers. "And, it's a pretty small moon. I've practically explored every nook and cranny of it in my time here alone. Well! At first, then I was not alone and now I'm  _ super _ not alone now that Locus and Lopez are here."

Grif blinks. Then does a slow head turn towards the volleyballs. That's. That's a lot of volleyballs, he dimly realizes, an understanding of the Nulls situation sinking into his mind.

"Well," Simmons sighs. "If there's no way off of this moon, then sure. We can wait for Locus-S15 to wake up."

"What does that mean?" Grif-S15 questions. "Is that like- some super-secret designation, for- for this dimension? Since you mentioned dimensions earlier, and that guy next to you looks exactly- ok well not  _ exactly _ considering that my face is half of Simmons’ face and-"

He cuts himself off with a gasp. His helmet is squarely focused on Simmons.

_ "You're _ Simmons," Grif-S15 states. And Grif is mildly noting how this is, oh, the second Grif-Null to have direct contact with a Simmons-Null. It rankles him and he doesn't know why. The idea that he's pre-destined to know the neurotic Captain.

Suddenly Grif-S15 is close to the Captain, entering his personal bubble without a second thought, and the SEO backs up a tad.

"It's been so fucking long since I've seen  _ my _ Simmons," Grif-S15 states like a man struggling for air after having been drowned his entire life. "And-"

A hand reaches up to touch Simmons' face before the other man moves back away from the Null entirely and says, "Nope. Hands to your fucking self."

Grif-S15 yanks his hand bank as though he was burned, but he's nodding his head quickly, saying, "Right! Right, yeah, of course, a good friend- or buddy even!- would know to respect your boundaries and, I'll definitely keep that in mind when apologizing to you- my Simmons."

Silence sits in the air after that word-vomit.

And by that point, Grif has started to become lightheaded, and trying to head towards the table without any chairs- why the fuck weren't there any chairs, where was he supposed to sit, he only needed a minute, just one minute- he's stopped when his knee buckled under his weight and he comes crashing down.

"Holy shit!" Grif-S15 exclaims at seeing him collapse, but he moves towards him to help him up. "Here, let me h-"

Smacking his hand, Grif snarls, "I can get up myself, fuck off."

"Yeah, sure, if you could have you totally would have done it, just let me help you up," the other Grif doesn't back down from his snappish attitude.

Reluctantly, Grif allows the Null to help him up, and he balances all of his weight against the countertop. His face is flushed and he's distinctively aware of how the beaded sweat on his forehead is beginning its slow descent down his face. Dammit, he really wasn't in any good shape to be up and about. Not that he would give Richard-Null the satisfaction of being right about not putting pressure on his wound.

"You're bleeding," the words fall blankly out of the Null’s mouth, causing Grif to grit his teeth at his weakness being revealed. "Were you shot?"

Simmons rushes over, concerned, and his eyes are filled with devastation at seeing the wound has reopened.

"Here, let me bring you to one of the rooms, I can get a healing pack from Blue Base," Grif-S15 starts to lead him out of the room, despite Grif's weak protests, and drags him down a corridor to a room which he promptly opens and helps deposit Grif on top of the bed.

Panting somewhat, Grif squints his eyes at the Null and questions, "What the hell is a healing pack?"

If the Null is surprised that he doesn't know what that is- Nulls often got offended when you didn't know every tiny detail about their stupid fucking dimension- he doesn't say.

Simmons follows dutifully in after him. Grif-S15 hurries out of the room to get that pack or whatever, but he throws a longing glance back at Simmons as he does so.

Both Captain and Pilot confounded at the scenario they found themselves in, stayed quiet. Then, just to fill the room with  _ something, _ Grif announces, "I'm gonna let everyone know we're ok and shit. And still in pursuit of the Assets."

"Yeah, you go do that," Simmons approves. "I'll just... keep watch. In case Locus-S15 gets back up and decides to murder us for neutralizing him."

Shivering at the idea of having to face off another Locus so soon, Grif quickly says, "Good idea."

He plays around on the server for a while, quickly snapping a photo to announce his condition, and gets a read on what things were like over at the DIME Corps. Figuring that he had cleared the situation up, he exits out of the communication and tells Simmons, "They're sending all available Captain and Pilot partnerships out to find the Assets."

Furrowing his brow, Simmons points out, "I thought they already did?"

"No dude, they're sending like,  _ all _ as in- literally everyone," Grif elaborates.

"Oh." Simmons blinks. "That's- so we should expect to see other officers in the future?"

Snorting, Grif leans back onto the bed, enjoying the feeling of actually having something comfortable to lay on, "Pretty much."

The Captain opens his mouth to say something when Grif-S15 returns with the healing pack. It's a strange device, but as soon as the Null set it up, Grif can feel it's effects wash over him and he sinks deep into the feeling. His head clears up of lingering hurt, and his leg throbs as it starts to heal. The combination of whatever that Richard-Null did plus this from Grif-S15 should get him back on his feet in a day if not a few hours. Which was very good for them since Grif was planning on suffering through it until he literally collapsed and either managed to drag himself back to DIME or he, who knows, fucking died?

In the process of getting his leg healed, Locus-S15 wakes up and storms to where the three had been- not hiding, well, maybe hiding on the SEO's part- situated.

Hand gripping the doorway so tightly that Grif could have sworn that he saw cracks, the man growls,  _ "Explanation. Now." _

Tensing up, Simmons bites his lip before blurting out, "Yes! An explanation, of course, we can totally do that! Right Grif?"

Giving the other man a dirty look for throwing him under the bus like that, Grif takes it upon himself to explain just what exactly is going on, "Simmons-10 and I here are DIME officers, tasked with retrieving the escaped Dimensional Criminals Locus-X and Felix-Z. We thought you were Locus-X and attacked on sight, so sorry about that I suppose, but can you really blame us? The last dimension they were in they killed like, at least a good two hundred people."

The Locus in front of them stilled dangerously at his words.

"What you mean to say is that there is currently another Felix roaming about again in this dimension," there are no emotions present in Locus-S15's voice, but Grif can tell that the other man is on edge.

"Yup," Grif popped the 'p' and glanced at the other version of himself. "So I'm guessing that your version of those two aren't on good terms?"

"Oh definitely not," Grif-S15 says despite the warning his Locus gave him. "Also, our Felix is super dead. Killed him not too long ago protecting Chorus."

Hearing that name causes the two SEO officers to twitch. Really, the similarities presented thus far between this dimension and their own was uncanny. But they could easily be filed away under the multiversal constants rule.

"Not only are they in this dimension, but they're also on this moon?" Locus-S15 sounds dangerously close to snapping, and Grif didn't want to get into the crossfire of that so he let Simmons take over.

"Most likely! But they won't be able to leave, your Grif confirmed that there's no way off this moon, so they're sitting ducks," Simmons gave a weak grin. "We have practically all day to catch them, and if you wouldn't mind helping us out then-"

"There is a way off this moon," the Locus double cuts him off, a creeping epiphany in his voice. "I came here on a ship to retrieve the assistance of Captain Grif."

Captain Grif. Eugh, even though he  _ knew _ the circumstances behind that were different, it just sounded wrong to hear that title next to his name.

"Oh, we checked that out earlier, there didn't seem to be any way to access the ship," Simmons brought up.

"There's no way onto that ship because it only responds to my DNA signature," Locus-S15 drops that tidbit like an executioner kicking the stand from under the feet of the ones set to hang.

Grif can see Simmons' face freeze, and the hope that had been present in his eyes dwindle out as he repeats in a daze, "D..NA... signature?"

Locus-S15 does not respond, he instead turns and hurries out of the base. Grif can already see the path he's going to take to return to his ship, only to find that it's missing.

Their best bet, at the moment, would be that the Assets find this dimension interesting enough to stick around awhile. Giving them time to somehow catch up to them. Because there's only so far you can chase after two seasoned criminals before you lose them and miss the residue left behind by the dimensional rift.

Thumping back against the pillow, Grif suddenly feels very, very tired. That healing pack must have drained him of his energy because his eyes start to flutter closed and he passes at with the knowledge that if they don't catch them soon, it might be worth it to just hand themselves over to DIME.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When pre-planning I saw today's daily prompts, I resigned myself to returning to the throne of Grif-on-Iris focused fics. To be fair, it makes it really easy to come up with new ideas revolving around the same moment from the season, haha!
> 
> And yes! This _was_ the canon dimension! Of course, with the interference of Grif-10 and Simmons-10, it's now careened into a canon divergence dimension.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	9. For the Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Take Me Instead" | **"Run!"** | Ritual Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, a continuation of yesterday's dimension! Plus, this is also like, my longest chapter so far this month. I'm somewhat not surprised since I'm so used to writing for season 15, it's pretty much natural to write a lot for.
> 
> For the duration of this month, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; mention of death_

When Grif wakes up and has all his energy back, the first thing he does is make eye contact with Simmons. Then he makes eye contact with Grif-S15. And then begrudgingly he makes eye contact with Locus-S15. And lastly, he makes eye contact with the maroon painted volleyball that his double is clutching onto like a lifeline.

The weight of what happened earlier is at the forefront of his mind, and given the way that Locus-S15 is practically stewing in hatred, he's smart enough to not ask,  _ 'So was the ship there?' _

Instead, he asks, "What's our next step?"

Grif-S15 shifts and glances up at Locus-S15, and Grif has no idea why his double would be looking to the man for guidance, but given that it was his ship that was stolen, he'll let it slide.

"Establishing communications," Locus-S15 states, voice low. "Grif-"

Both Grif's turn to look at him.

Grif-S15 swallows and lets out a nervous chuckle as he shares a look with Grif, saying, "Right, so that could be a problem."

"Well, not in particular," Simmons shifts. "Each dimension has a designation. It's pretty much mandatory for DIME officers to use them when communicating with denizens of other dimensions."

Snapping his fingers, Grif-S15 looks up, "You called Locus here  _ Locus-S15. _ Is that what this dimension’s designation is?"

Simmons looked surprised that he had remembered, and he dumbly nodded as he stammered, "R-right. Us two, we're Grif-10 and Simmons-10."

"That's so weird to say," Grif-S15 tilted his head. "Plus, we'll just hear the first half and think it's us. But if we just go by designations, that'll get confusing when we meet up with the guys again because we can't call both of you  _ Ten." _

Locus-S15 stayed silent on the matter, and Simmons had his brows scrunched up as he tried to figure out a solution.

"What if I went by Captain Grif?" Grif-S15 suggested. "Locus already calls me that, so I'm more likely to respond to it."

"But that wouldn't work for me, since I'm a Captain," Simmons pointed out. "As you said, if we meet up with your group, my double will be there. And unless you guys have Captains and Pilots in this universe, I'm going to guess he has the rank of captain too."

"Wow, I could literally hear the emphasis on 'captain' and 'pilot' but you're right," Grif-S15 sighed. "It'd be so much less work if we just said fuck it and assigned nicknames or something."

At the mention of nicknames, a thought entered Grif's head, and his initial feelings of detest were pushed aside for the need to get this fucking conversation done and over with.

"Halfie," he announced, drawing all eyes towards him. "I can be Halfie. Keep Grif, I'll know I'm not being addressed."

"That's... a really weird nickname, but ok," he couldn't tell where Grif-S15's eyes were, but he had an inkling that they were lingering on the discoloration on his face. Which, to be fair, was a good of a guess as any as to where the nickname originated, but unfortunately for him was still wrong.

"Are you sure, Grif-10?" Simmons shifted, an uncomfortable look on his face. Unless they chose to divulge the meaning behind the name, the only two who would know that it was a derogatory term were the SEOs.

"Yes, so can we move the fuck on," he twitched at the thought that Simmons was patronizing or pitying him. He offered the nickname himself, and honestly, after all of the other jeers he'd had to endure, that one was not nearly as offensive as people liked to smugly think it was.

Having that matter settled, Locus-S15 continued where he left off, "Grif, is there any way to contact the authorities on Chorus?"

Grif-S15 shook his head, "It's too far out of range, which is partially why we wanted to retire here. No solicitors or annoying UNSC representatives to breathe down our necks. And unfortunately, the only time other people come here is when they're dropping off a monthly shipment of supplies for us to restock. Other than that, we're pretty much in dead space."

"Perfect, just... perfect," Locus-S15 snarled. Looking away from the armored man, he looked towards him and asked, "Do you have any form of long-range communication that can work in this dimension?"

Thinking about it, Grif tried to recall if it was ever covered when discussing cross-dimensional relations.

"I think... only individual frequencies, if I have the communication device in front of me to adjust it for multiversal communication," Grif revealed. "A connection needs to be established before anything can get done. So no."

Locus-S15 seemed as though he would much rather slip off the face of the Earth- or, in this case, random fuck moon in the middle of empty space- and the room felt at a loss of what to do.

Licking his lips, and already feeling the regret building in his stomach, Grif offered, "If I... step out of this dimension, and if you give me the coordinates to this Chorus, I can physically arrive there and tell whoever you need me to talk to directly."

"Yeah, how do you leave and enter dimensions?" Grif-S15 questioned. "It can't be a ship, otherwise we could have just used that. And those gun things knocked Locus fucking out like a light, so it's probably not that either."

"I'm a Pilot," and Grif doesn't feel the need to elaborate any further than that.

Grif-S15 is clearly frustrated with that answer, but he decides to just huff and fiddle around with his volleyball for a second, before becoming frustrated with that as well. Dropping it to the ground, he kicks it into the corner of the room.

Grif  _ has _ noticed that his double seems more mellow than when they had first barged in. Given that he had been isolated for an extended period of time, he was willing to bet that the other man wasn't used to having people around again. Clearly, he must have become readjusted to the presence of other living beings, and thus felt no need for his weird-ass substitutes. Which was a relief, considering that if Grif had to deal with that feeble version of himself he might have just gone ahead and made Grif-S15 join the other versions of himself.

Speaking of...

"So, I get you guys a ship and the two of us go back to finding the Assets, but I'm just telling you flat out that in no instance will I be going anywhere fucking near Temple," he states as plainly as he can get. There's no way any of them can change his mind on this.

"Is Temple really that bad?" Grif-S15 looks towards him first before glancing back at the Locus double. "Like, he's just some supervillain, nothing we haven't faced before, right?"

"Please, tell that to Dexter-T8 and Grif-W19," the Pilot let slip. "I'm sure they would love to tell you how much they enjoyed sharing pleasantries with the asshole who kidnapped, collared, and buried alive them."

"B-  _ buried alive?!" _ Grif's sure that his double has lost all of the color in his face, and he can't really blame them.

"That is most concerning, but not out of the realm of possibility for that man. He and his ilk took away irreplaceable life support equipment from a colony and left them to die," Locus-S15 tacked on, and Grif can't even find it in himself to blink at that. He's just grateful that he had the foresight to file for that restraining order. If the slimy bastard got near him- and given the propensity towards wearing armor in this dimension, he would have to ask what color to be on the lookout for- he was going to enjoy releasing a charge of his neutralizer into him.

"That's-  _ Christ," _ Grif-S15 sounds like he might just pass out, and considering that Grif himself just woke up, that wouldn't be in their best interest.

Helping move the conversation forward, Grif steered them back to the tangent he brought up, "So as you can see, I'm sort of a high-risk individual when it comes to that maniac. And I'm not really in the mood to join them in Hell."

"If you manage to bring back a ship capable of carrying multiple people, then you and your companion may stay on it until we can resolve the situation ourselves," at least this version of Locus seemed like a reasonable guy. Oh, Grif had no doubt that deep down he was probably a very fucked up person, but so far he  _ hadn't _ shot Grif with a sniper rifle, plus plus he was letting Grif keep the restraining order intact by not throwing him to the wolves. That made him ok in Grif's books.

"Good enough for me," and with that he rose from the bed, twisting his body carefully so as to not disturb his exoskeleton. "Hand over the coordinates for both Chorus and this moon. The first so that I can portal there, and the other so that I can bring back the ship. Which, by the way, I'm hoping is some sort of vehicle that can cross space without taking literal months or years."

Whereas Locus-S15 was able to provide the coordinates to Chorus, it was Grif-S15 who told him the coordinates for the moon- Iris, it was named.

Grif ignored his counterpart’s sound of awe when he activated his exoskeleton, and he chose to be blissfully ignorant to the lack of reaction from the Locus double. As always, he produced a portal and prepared to step into it when he saw that Simmons was also doing the same.

Grabbing onto his arm, Grif told him, "Stay here with them."

Squawking, Simmons protested, "What for?!"

"I need to get this done efficiently and quickly," Grif told him. "And I can't do that if you're with me."

"Wh- but," Simmons deflated in abashed confusion. "We're partners."

"All the more reason to do this for myself while I collect my thoughts," which wasn't quite true, but he had no reservations when it came to lying to get what he wanted in the end. "I can't have our partnership impeded by just one bad day."

Taking his statement and believing it, Simmons backed off. Then, Grif entered the portal alone and stood in a very familiar city.

Ah, so this dimension ran parallel to W19. That was both good and bad to know, considering that Grif-S15 probably doesn't realize how close he is to getting trapped in a box under the ground. Grif can't say whether or not that would have been preferable to the death that afflicted Dexter-T8, as Kai-T8 stated that her brother had been missing for quite some time. That's too big of an open window of uncertainty, as anything can happen within captivity. At least Grif-W19 had a set amount of time where he had suffered.

There weren't nearly as many stares this time around, and Grif was only partially confused that Locus-S15 had sent him to the front of some sort of office building, instead of a shipyard or where ever the hell this dimension would keep its spaceships.

Entering the building, he walked calmly towards the woman at the entrance desk, who looked at him in a daze and with stars in her eyes. 

"Captain Grif is there anything I can help you with," she asked, leaning forward in her willingness to help.

Keeping his face blank of any tells- and resisting the urge to scrunch his nose at the title, which he still found repulsive- he said, "Direct me to where I can find a ship. It's kind of world-important."

Before the secretary could get a chance to help, or not help depending on whatever her answer to his demand would have been, another voice joined the conversation, "Oh, Grif, I didn't expect to see you here. Are the other's here as well?" 

Looking in the direction of the voice, he's faced with a woman in a sand-colored armor with light blue trimmings.

"No," he doesn't say anything further, not knowing who this woman was.

The secretary unwittingly fills him in, however, nodding her head towards the newcomer and saying, "President Kimball, I was just about to direct Captain Grif towards the New Armonia Garage."

Oh.  _ Oh. _ Now wasn't that funny. There in front of him stood a double for the warden who fucked up enough to get him and Simmons into this stupid fucking mess in the first place. If his version of her screwed up as a simple warden, he felt bad for this planet considering she was their chief executive.

"No, that will be quite alright, actually you can give them a call ahead of time and say that I will cover the costs," Kimball-S15 tells the secretary with a moderately polite voice, something that Grif is willing to contribute to her being a politician. "While you do that, I'll step out to have a quick chat with the Captain for a minute or two."

Ah, given the tone of her voice Grif was sure that he had no actual say in this. So he dutifully followed her as she led him to an empty conference room. Looking around, he doesn't bother to sit down, knowing that standing would give him a better intimidation factor.

Once the door to the room was closed, Kimball-S15 whirled around to face him and demanded, "Who the hell are you and speak fast before I call security and have you arrested for trespassing."

Huffing, Grif pulled out his ID Card and actually handed it over to her whilst saying, "Man, am I fucking tired of hearing  _ that _ question. Just take this. I'm sure you can read and figure it out yourself."

The woman studies the card, and after mulls over the information she was given.

"Of course," she slumps forward, hands pressing hard against the table in the room before clattering his card in his direction. "Why am I surprised? If anyone would be involved with  _ genuine _ dimensional travel it would be you lot."

Choosing not to question her on that, Grif cleared his throat, "Great, glad we cleared that up. Now, if that was all, I wasn't lying when I said I needed a ship to help save the world- well, more like dimension if I'm being truthful."

Straightening her posture, Kimball-S15 placed a hand on her chin as she asked, "Does it have to do with that message I gave to Miss Andrews?"

Feeling his eye twitch at the random Null name drop, he said, "Who?"

Kimball-S15 radiated confusion at his lack of knowledge on the Null, and not wanting to waste any more time, especially since he still had no idea how long space travel actually took, he quickly tacked on, "If you really have to know, some asshole named Temple- real creep, by the way, just a little heads up, maybe don't accept any construction jobs in the city for a while now until he's dealt with- is causing a fuss. I'm not here for him though, and would actually really prefer to not have to deal with him at all. But the people I'm actually after love fucking causing chaos and death, so our guess is that they're not too far behind him."

"That..." she paused. "Is a lot to take in at once."

"Cool, not my problem," jerking his head towards the closed door. "Can I go now?"

"I suppose," which meant that she really had no other choice but to let him go.

Snatching up his ID Card, Grif made his way back to the secretary and got the directions to the garage where he was to pick up something called a Pelican. He didn't bother actually walking there, instead, he ducked into an alleyway and discretely made another portal. Because, seriously, Kimball-S15 just had to waste his time grilling him about stupid shit that wasn't any of her business and wouldn't be her problem especially once they got out of this dimension.

The Pelican itself had little to no resemblance to the animal, and Grif debated in his head for only a minute about what animal it  _ could _ resemble before boarding it and taking all but one second to familiarize himself with the controls. They didn't just make him a Pilot expecting him to only know how to create and navigate through portals, there was additionally vehicle training too. And Grif was lucky enough to have a natural inclination towards driving and piloting.

Plugging in the coordinates back to Iris, Grif didn't spare the planet of Chorus a second thought.

Turns out, it doesn't take nearly as long as he thought it would have to travel through the dark expanse of space. It was quiet, and he found himself enjoying sitting in a vehicle to travel for a change. All this walking around was making him sore all over, and while his leg was properly healed due to the healing pack, he wasn't planning on fucking that up again. He'd be lucky if he didn't have any residual pain or limp.

Having a moment of reprieve, Grif thought about how much easier it was to do everything on his own. He didn't have to worry about another person's safety- not that he ever did before- and he certainly wouldn't have to worry about saying something that could potentially harm their feelings. Grif's only just now realized that he had been extremely callous with Kai-T8, and ignorant to her plight. Not that he felt bad for her- he didn't, really, nor did he feel bad for Dexter-T8- but he could step outside of himself and point out that he hadn't shown any type of sympathy, not even the fake kind.

But that's just how he was. Life was easier when he was blunt and sharp with his words, and even if it wasn't for a sake of convenience, Grif would still act the same, not caring in the slightest about other people. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, after all, he had to worry about himself first and foremost. But that was why people talked about him when he wasn't around, as Simmons spilled to him in his flurry of messages during his radio silence.

So if he was just by himself, he wouldn't have to hold his tongue back. He could focus entirely on his self-preservation instincts. But, Captain and Pilot partnerships couldn't function without the other, so it wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Arriving down on Iris, he's met by a surprisingly still alive Simmons, a brooding Locus-S15, and an antsy Grif-S15. Also, the weird helmet that only spoke in Spanish. But that thing didn't count as a person so Grif didn't pay it any mind, if anything, it was simply an upgraded and advanced volleyball that could talk back. Which brought about the smallest bit of confusion as to why they were bringing it along.

They board without any sort of fanfare, and while the two S15's talked about various infiltration plans, Simmons informed him that the helmet- named Lopez apparently- would have to be in the pilot's cabin to direct him towards the planet that Temple and his gang were stationed on. Whether or not the Assets were there would only be confirmed once Simmons set down on the planet's surface.

It was a crapshoot for sure. The only thing that could possibly interest the Assets was something that would cause as many deaths as possible, and while Temple was a sadistic motherfucker from what his files suggested, he didn't quite fit the scale of universal devastation.

"Hey, uh, Halfie?" Grif-S15 called out to him, causing him to turn around.

"What?" he asked blankly.

"This Temple guy," a hand snaked to cradle the back of his own neck. "Is he- fuck, what you said was true, wasn't it? About Dexter-T something and Grif-W whatever."

Oh, that's what he was worried about. Considering that it was the combined efforts of Grif and Locus-S15 that put the fear of god into his double, Grif thought he at least deserved his honesty.

"Yes." That didn't seem to reassure the other man, not that Grif was trying to be particularly reassuring. Which also doesn't stop him from elaborating, "I saw both of their dead bodies with my own eyes. It was pretty graphic. Or, so I presume, to me, it was like I was staring at any other dead person."

"Jesus," Grif-S15 said with a shaky breath. "And you- you're not fucked up from all that?"

"Pretty sure I was fucked up before it," internally he laughed at his own joke if it could even be called that.

"You know, you're a pretty interesting person, well- considering that you're me from like, I don't know, some intense dimension or whatever," the double relaxed his posture, and Grif curled his lips at the display. "It'd be cool if we could talk more, but, considering that we've got a super important mission, that'll show the others I really  _ have _ turned over a new leaf, we can't really do that."

Which was fine with Grif, since answering questions was annoying anyhow. But then, unbidden a thought entered his mind.

He really shouldn't do this. There was no point to. He didn't care about this double- or any double that he's met or even will meet in the future- and offering this would be a misread signal for the other man.

But it would be hilarious, it would be a good laugh, and fuck he deserved to cause a little chaos himself.

"You know, that's not entirely true," he slyly reminded the double. "Remember, so long as I establish the connection, it's possible for my communicator to make cross-dimensional transmissions."

He watched the loading sign process above the other man before he brightened up and said, "Dude, holy fuck,  _ yes. _ What do I need to do?"

"Give me whatever you use to communicate with people," he held out his hand, expecting an external device to be placed into his palm. But then, the double took off his helmet and dropped it into his expecting grasp.

The first thing that stands out to him is the discolored patch of skin on Grif-S15's face, similar in the side of his own, but differing in that the eyebrow was red and the eye was green. The Null  _ had _ said something about having Simmons’ face, hadn't he?

The second thing that stands out to him is the realization that he looks exactly like W19's corpse, only alive of course.

Not commenting on these discoveries, he goes about modifying the radio in the helmet to be able to intercept and receive multiversal frequencies. Then he goes ahead and implements the channel that DIME officers specifically could use, going about setting up an account for him on his own communicator and relaying the login information so that it would link to his HUD.

"So, how do I know if it'll work?" Grif-S15 questioned.

Scoffing, he raised an eyebrow at him and said, "You doubting my capabilities?"

"Nope!" the double said quickly and slipped back on his helmet.

He then strayed back towards Locus-S15's side, and they confirmed their final plan.

"And if I encounter Temple?" Grif-S15 questioned the Locus double, nervousness encompassing his form. "What should I do?"

At the same time that Locus-S15 instructed, "Act docile, and get his guard down, we need you to get close enough to the other Reds and Blues so that we can collect them for the upcoming fight," Grif sent a message over to a private channel between him and his counterpart.

_ 'Run! :),' _ he instructed.

Grif would later find, that his write off of Temple was incorrect, given that the drill his subordinates made would have collapsed the dimension on itself. Something that was very much worthy of the Assets’ attention. And yet, somehow, together the S15's managed to defeat the megalomaniac and saved the entire dimension. The SEOs knew of this because in their own ship they had followed behind as the S15’s went off to Earth to stop the man.

That was something he would have to ruminate on because if it was just Grif alone, there was no way in hell he would have been able to stop something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Assets definitely were hoping Temple's drill would just destroy the universe for them, but by the time the Reds and Blues were able to stop him, the Key had recharged so there was no point in trying to infer and cause shit at that point.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	10. They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | **Trail of Blood**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really excited to get to this chapter, only because I really like the dimension for it haha!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; trail of blood, graphic depictions of violence, graphic description of corpses_

The next dimension they plopped into had two surprises. The first was that the drop off location was an enclosed space station. However, the two SEOs had firmly learned their lesson last time about assuming that just because it seemed like the Assets had nowhere to run to that they would be an easy catch, as it definitely would not be the case. So Simmons didn't let hope kindle in his chest, and Grif resolved to breakdown every and any door that they encountered whether or not it was locked. No more letting them getaway in a ship shit either, Grif didn't have the luxury of having a dimensional double as tourist map this time.

They landed in an observatory room first and wandering around just led them down confusing and brightly shining chrome hallways. The station was practically nothing but hallways, so many intersecting ones that the residue overlapped each other. They were lucky that there were maps occasionally posted onto the walls, showing that there were many rooms and levels to the structure.

The bottom-most level was the storage unit, containing all of the supplies for the- and he was to search through an empty file cabinet to find this part out- ore miners to last for multiple years. Above that level was the shipyard that housed the excavators and carrier ships to bring the miners to the various moons and asteroid fields or back to their home planet, which was listed as Tantalus. That would be the level they would have to worry about the most, and while it said that only the Captain had the key  _ and _ the override code to be able to operate the vehicles it would only take one knock against the head from the butt of a gun to get a weaker person to talk and hand it over to the two fugitives.

Below the level that they were currently on, which was a combination of the barracks and observatory which had a wide-open glass dome that showed the two SEOs the deep expanse of the cosmos, was the floor of the main functions. It contained a functioning greenhouse that housed foreign flora, an archive for information and research, an ore processing room, a medical wing, and several non-essential recreation rooms. As far as space stations go, Grif found that it was both tame and rational, but in all fairness, this is the only one that he had ever been on himself and not on film so they could all be in similar build to this one in reality.

The barrack level showed to be a fruitless search, as every room turned up empty. The private rooms of the miners had a personal flair to it, and Grif could almost get an understanding of the people who occupied them. He says almost because, after all, you could only get a read on someone's character when they were there to show themselves to you.

They had not yet come across any of the miners. Which didn't really incite any particular suspicions in Grif at the moment, considering that they were all presumably hard workers. Until they reached the shipyard and saw whether or not there were any ships currently docked on the station, they would have to go on the suspicion that the miners were out collecting ore and whatever the fuck else they do. 

That is, until they reached the next level. Upon descending the elevator down, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Was the silence a tad foreboding? Absolutely, but they were under the impression that this place was currently unoccupied besides themselves and the Assets, and considering they were chasing the other pair, it didn't surprise him that the place seemed quiet compared to the other universes where there were at least people present.

Then the elevator doors open.

The first thing that Grif's eyes registered was that the lights were down in this section. The next thing was that bright red emergency lights were flickering on and off highlighting the corridor in a menacing glow.

Disappointingly, his eyes register the dead body last. The legs were jutting out from the corner of the hallway, and there were bloody drag marks trailing behind it. Grif didn't even bother to turn to Simmons to confirm if the Assets came to this direction or not, simply heading forward with the assumption that they were the ones responsible for this carnage.

And what a carnage it was, he found out as he reached the turn in the corridor, and go the fuller picture of just what had procured devastation in its wake.

It turns out, that wasn't actually a body that he had seen. Rather, it was one half of a bisected person, the legs laying abandoned in the hallway by themselves, entrails pouring out of the top where the missing half was no longer. Viscera splattered on the walls, chunks of brain matter sliding down at a frustratingly slow pace. 

Looking up, where so many humans tended to not, he was greeted with the sight of another body strung from electrical wires, hanging in the tangles as blood dripped from the gaping wound in its side, splashing onto the floor where it contributed to the ever-growing pile just beneath it. At least this body still had both halves to it, and Grif morbidly wondered where the other half of the first one was.

Decidedly, this was probably  _ not _ the work of the Assets. Grif, while knowing that Locus-X and Felix-Z could be pretty fucking sadistic if they fancied switching up their usual destructive dynamic, knew that they wouldn't have been able to do all  _ this _ in such a short amount of time.

Which brought up the question as to who- or probably more appropriately-  _ what _ had caused this bloodbath.

"Simmons, can you get a clear scan on what is in this station," Grif leaned close to murmur towards his partner. He didn't want anything to overhear the two of them, could never be too careful.

Simmons fiddled around with his HUD before his he developed a pallor to his face, becoming whiter than a sheet enough so that Grif could faintly see his blood vessels.

"I- I can't get my HUD to work," the Captain swallowed harshly. "It's almost like something's interfering with the signal."

Right. Just what they needed, going in fucking blind. But if the visor was being messed with then- "How are we going to track the Assets without your HUD?"

Eyes flitting downward, Simmons lifted a shaky hand and pointed towards the floor saying, "Well, that should do for now."

Looking down himself, Grif noticed that there were two pairs of ill-defined footprints creating a trail of blood down the corridor. It was flimsy at best, after all, it could have been caused by whatever killed these two miners or it could actually be them. They would never know until they followed the old fashioned trail.

Sidestepping the pair of legs, and ducking under the body strung up by wires in a way that he avoided the guzzling blood, Grif made his way down the hall. Following the footsteps turned out to actually be more efficient than the residue trail since they could see what direction the shoes were pointing exactly, and they could instantly see when the footprints had intersected because of it.

But, they also found more and more dead bodies. Corpses mutilated in various different ways, some of them sitting propped up against the wall with arms lax and faces bare when there was a gaping hole in their stomach, and the more gruesome ones missing heads with sharp teeth indents in the leftover of their necks. It was creating a sense of suspense that Grif wanted to instantly vanish, especially since it caused him to tense and question every tiny sound that he heard.

A rustle here, a creak there, it was starting to get to his mind, and the last thing he needed was to lose his cool and blow their cover. He almost would prefer it if the Assets would just come out and shoot the two already since it couldn't be worse than the mounting fear of the unknown.

Just as they were reaching the final corridor, a set of distant thumping broke the silence. The pair paused, making their last step silent as they glanced around. The sound was muffled so far, but the fact that they were hearing anything had them on guard. Something about it all just didn't feel right.

The sound got louder, transforming into loud clanging and groaning as the metal was stressed under the weight of  _ something. _

It wasn't until the sound was practically  _ above them _ that Simmons jolted in fright and yelped,  _ "The fucking vents!" _

The thumping stopped just as the two jumped and darted out of the way, just in time too as a metal grate crashed onto the ground and a scorpion-like tail assaulted the place where they had last stood.

Oh, fucking Christ on a pogo stick they were stuck on a spacecraft with a fucking  _ alien monster. _ A monster that had already killed it's fair share of people. And given the ferocity at which the tail slammed and created a sharp indent on the ground, it was fair to say that it was looking to slaughter some more.

The tail slowly sunk back into the vent, and neither Grif nor Simmons stuck around to find out what exactly that monstrosity looked like in full. 

Racing down the hallway, and without a HUD to guide them, they picked the closest and smallest room possible to scamper into and shut as soon as they were both in. Looking around and finding all of the heaviest objects in the room- a couch, two cabinets, and a desk- and piling them on top of each other in front of the door.

It was a last-minute decision to turn off any and all lights in the room, which in this case was shutting off Simmons' visor, and Grif throwing a large sheet around his body, wrapping it close to himself as he found that in the dark he emitted a soft glow from his exoskeleton, and even it if was hard to see in the room itself, he wasn't going to take a risk as great as that.

The two of them waited with bated breath as the creature stalked the halls, a clicking sound sounding out in the now silent station, forcing the image of horrible claws into Grif's mind and cementing it there.

When it sounded like the alien had passed by the room without pause, Grif reached out and grabbed Simmons' hand, flipping it over so that it was palm up. Moving to grip the sheet with just one hand, he let go of Simmons' and started to trace with his finger into his palm. He could see Simmons repressing shivers at the sensation but didn't let that stop him.

Repeating the letters over before moving on to the next, Grif spelled out,  _ 'V E N T S ?' _

He felt Simmons stiffen under his fingertip, and he started to scan the dark room that they were in. Thankfully, they had chosen wisely both in that it was small enough to search all corners of it, but also that it was lacking any sort of vent that the monster could claw its way into. Seeing as they couldn't speak up, they couldn't talk about what the fuck to do next. They couldn't do much of anything, actually, beyond sliding down softly onto the floor to wait out the monster. The best thing that they could hope for was that it had already killed the Assets, or would even eventually run into them and do its thing. Otherwise, they're fucked and would have to turn back to DIME since Simmons' HUD was useless at the moment.

However, there was another thing that they were surprised and confronted with, and that was that there were two other DIME officers that had just arrived at the station. Really, it was only natural for other DEOs to monitor the right universe at the right time to notice that intrusion of the two escapees. It was unusual that the two SEOs would run into a pairing so soon, considering they had just been informed of said directive not too long ago.

But Grif chalked it up to bad luck. Very, very bad luck.

Luck so bad that they heard as the pair appeared right outside of their barricaded room. The two SEOs were forced to listen to the officers speak loudly and obnoxiously, drawing far too much attention to themselves upon arrival.

They couldn't contact them. Communication was cut off from both ends, not that they were aware.

Attention that had caught the interest of the monster in a matter of seconds. The words of humans were quickly replaced by a guttural scream that echoed in the tiny room, an alienist screech matching its volume and then the sickening sound of flesh tearing and bones crunching under the strength of the alien's maw. The second officer screamed so loudly that Grif's ears began to ring, and hurried footsteps echoed for all but a minute for the creature descended upon them too. There was just one snap before the petrified screaming stopped.

Only to be replaced by a sharp beeping sound and a loud buzz, the monster wailing out in pain now, a sizzling sound accompanying it. Then, after all that stopped, a loud thud hit the ground before a monumental thump dwarfed it.

And finally, silence. Pure, blissful silence passionately composed by the way that the two SEOs didn't dare to breathe.

That could have been them. And Grif feared a great many things, but the concept of getting trapped by whatever the fuck that was shot up like a rocket to the top of that list.

Simmons was apprehensive to slip his visor back on because after all, there could be  _ more. _ And they would just never know until another beast showed up. But he placed it on and his face crumpled as he announced, "Communications are back online."

Grif gave him a minute to compose himself before asking, "Signatures?"

"We're clumped together here," Simmons mumbled under his breath. "And there are two alive ones stationary on the other side of this level. No other alive and warm signatures after that."

"And of the monster? Can you even track that thing," Grif feverishly asked, because they had to know the answer to this.

"I can tell that the one slumped outside is actually dead," the Captain said in lieu of a proper answer.

Grif wanted to snap and tell him to be specific about whether or not there were more of them. But he calmed himself down by reminding himself that Simmons wouldn't hold back that kind of information from his partner.

If he could tell that one was dead, and said nothing else about the alien, then it was safe to assume that that was the only one.

So, getting down to it. The Assets were also clearly hiding from that beast, and there was no way for them to know that it was dead without exiting out of their refuge, which Grif was willing to bet they wouldn't do.

They weren't leaving this room, Grif knew that that was a no-brainer. Getting the jump on the two criminals was not worth having to step out and be confronted with your comrade’s corpses, and especially not facing the cadaver of the thing that killed them. Well, that's what Simmons argued at least.

Taking the time between the next complete Key recharge to sleep, Grif wrapped himself up still in the sheet and laid down into a small ball on the couch, knees pressed up against his chest. It wasn't the most comfortable position to be in, but no matter what he did when sleeping he always ended up in it anyway.

He drifted to sleep and was graced with nothing for dreams. That he could work with, and it allowed him to regain some of the energy he had lost from when this whole mission started.

Simmons was perched on one end of the couch, lost in thought, and had not noticed that Grif was awake. The Captain's eyes flitted across the HUD screen, and a new pop showed up causing him to sigh in relief.

"Grif," he whispered, a hand reaching out to shake the prone body. "Are you awake?"

Ready as ever to get the fuck out of there, Grif didn't hesitate to announce, "I'm up."

"Oh." A pause. "That's good. Um, the Assets left, so I have the new coordinates."

Sitting up and letting the sheet fall from his shoulders finally, he stretched his arms above his head and felt a small pop before setting them down.

"Hand it over," Grif said, opening and closing his hand to incite Simmons to rattle off the new dimension.

He made the portal and let Simmons go through first. Then, once the Captain was gone and out of sight, he held onto the portal in the back of his mind and went to work pushing the blockade to the side so that he could open up the door a bit and take a look outside just to satisfy his curiosity, even if it killed him.

The red lights were still flashing, so he had to focus on the three darkened forms to make out who they were.

The first body was hidden behind the body of the creature, it's tail curled slightly towards its main body. It had cat-like legs with talons at the end of them, and it's head held six open and dead-looking eyes. Mandibles were present too, and that must have been what gave it the jaw strength to completely bisect grown men. From what he could tell, the alien must have had some sort of exoskeleton given the rigidness of it's back.

The second body was more recognizable to him. A low ranking DEO, Hammer was annoying and eager to please, somehow just skirting away from being assigned to the SIM Branch. And he was a Pilot.

His uniform, while bloody, sizzled slightly as the smell of burnt flesh filtered into Grif's nostrils, causing him to raise his hand to block the rancid scent.

It was clear what had happened to the alien with the upper hand, and Grif found himself appreciative of the truth that the DIME had given him. The destruction of the exoskeleton upon Pilot’s death  _ was _ a failsafe. If it didn't overcharge upon user termination, Grif and Simmons wouldn't have been able to re-establish tracking with the HUD.

Stepping away from the crack in the door, Grif left the dimension having been brought back by satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going for a mixture of _Alien_ and Among Us vibes, because during the pre-planning phase of this fic I read a really good Among Us one and I was like, I want to challenge myself to describe something as eerie as that for one of these dimensions, and figured that the best fit to practice sci-fi horror like that would be today's prompt!
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	11. Psych 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Defiance** | Struggling | Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah, I was so excited to write this! You guys finally get a Simmons POV! Of course, it's a flashback but still!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; defiance, car crash, loss of limb, dubious-consensual body modification, self-esteem issues, drinking problems_

_Richard Simmons was an honest child. Everyone he knew agreed with that statement._

_Not only was he honest, but he was also useful. He helped the teachers with clean-up, often passed around sheets so that they wouldn't have to, and seemed kind and considerate to his fellow peers. Sure, he got nervous around his female classmates, but that was common for kids his age in elementary. It would still continue to be endearing in middle school, understandable in high school when he became lanky and even more awkward with a growth spurt, and only a tad pathetic as an adult._

_Dick, however, does not consider himself honest. He prefers strategic. He helped out with the teachers because they would be kinder to him than the others, would forgive him for mistakes if they happened- and he did his best to avoid those when possible. Dick answered their questions when the class drowned in silence so that he wouldn't be called on at random, which would have him floundering at the sudden and unexpected confrontation. He doesn't enjoy doing any of this, but he sucks it up and bears it because he knows that this is what will lead him to a life of success._

_Never dishonest, however, as he's never outright told a lie. He doesn't really need too. His hobbies consist of collecting cards and watching old sci-fi series. He always wanted to play a roleplaying campaign but didn't have enough friends to do so. His fellow mathletes would include him in their tournament celebrations, but he'd always go home somewhat bitter because despite having been surrounded by like-minded people, he just didn't seem to click._

_He wasn't hated, but he also wasn't the first person on anyone's mind when they thought about who they would invite over to their house._

_It didn't help that his parents were rich. Wealthy beyond all can imagine, and yet the house was barren of any warmth._

_His parents shaped his 'honest' character that he presented at school._

_Knowing his desire to learn and learn, often getting ahead of the course work, they firmly told him, "Whatever the teacher says, goes. Even if you know they're wrong. You're learning for the test and nothing else."_

_They pushed him to do extracurriculars, knowing it would look good on a transcript, and while his father tried to rope him into the football team, he said that he would "Settle on that debate team. It'll be good practice for when you go to law school."_

_His mother prepared his outfits each day, wanting him to look the part. It felt stupid going to school in suits, something that was outright strange as a freshman and then a regular sight as a senior._

_"Be approachable," they coached him. "Don't talk back. Answer how the teacher will want you to answer."_

_But no matter how much they guided him his entire path during high school, he disappoints them by not being valedictorian. He doesn't even manage to snag salutatorian either. They ignore his bringing home six plaques during the senior awards ceremony, roll their eyes at the scholarships he won- because they weren't needed due to their wealth, and honestly Richard dear you don't want your peers to think that you need handouts._

_These were things that he got on his own merit, things he took immense pride in. And it meant absolutely nothing to them._

_When he goes off to college, he can afford to dorm and he jumps at the chance. He has such high hopes about his future, he had his pick of any college after all and he went to the one known to produce the best lawyers after graduation. He enjoyed law, he knew that he could perform well within that profession, and while he wasn't extremely passionate about it, only an idiot would pursue their passions instead of considering the job market and economy that they would be graduating into._

_Dick dreamed about having a roommate that would click well with him, someone who could handle his immaculate cleaning habits- something he picked up on due to having the house always pristine as the staff cleared away any mess before he could stumble across it- perhaps even someone more outgoing and less awkward than he was could drag him to parties on campus so that he could have an active social life and experience the type of outings he never truly did during high school._

_All these dreams and a truck slamming into him on the highway shatters all of them._

_He's not awake for any of it- thank god for that- and as far as his memory is aware, he's driving to get back home after making a quick stop at a relative's house, to thank them for helping him pack away his things the day before, and the next thing he knows is that he's in a hospital room blearily staring up at the cold, white ceiling._

_Dick's pumped full of so many drugs, that he can't feel his left arm._

_Then he's not on so many drugs when he realizes that the reason why he couldn't feel his arm was because it was gone._

_His mother, through tears hanging on the ends of her long eyelashes as she grips his hand tightly, tells him that during the crash his arm got crushed between metal from the wreck his car became and by the time the paramedics arrived there wasn't much to be done about the arm and he had to have surgery to amputate it._

_Which is fine- totally fine. This wasn't something that he expected to have happened to him, ever, not in any of the life plans he nor his parents drafted for himself. But this was fine, because he was fine, and he could make the process of recovery very easy because he aims to please._

_He doesn't expect the anger that courses through him as he tries to get the new, expensive, and advanced prosthesis arm that his father dropped thousands upon thousands of dollars into to just fucking work. Because it doesn't and it's clearly not him, because he listens to what his physical therapist tells him to do to the exact fucking lettering and the arm must be malfunctioning it must-_

_Dick's appearance becomes gauntly during this time, and he has a slight limp because he took damage amongst his hips as well, but getting his legs back to working order goes so much better than his stupid arm so he hardly complains about the cane had to use to get around._

_He goes to school that semester without any missing days, because he's been advised- trained- to make a good first impression his whole life, and even if he had to drag his IV drip with him into the lecture hall if he had still been hospitalized, nothing would make him miss his classes. He takes all of his notes with his right hand, and wasn't it so unfortunate that he was a lefty? And his handwriting goes from sloppy to presentable, even if he can't write in cursive anymore. He figures that by the time the arm works as it should, he would have acquired the new skill of being ambidextrous and he considers it a plus to the whole situation._

_His roommate doesn't like him. And years after the entire experience he doesn't blame them. Dick isn't a pleasant person during this time, and while he would never admit it to anyone who asked, he was often drunk in the apartment crying over his stupid metallic arm. His roommate, whose name honestly escapes him he was that out of it the entire time, tried to make things work. But Dick was snappish and rude and a mean drunk. The RA's had to handle three roommate transfers before they say outright that no amount of money in the world could keep them quiet when reporting him if he didn't stop._

_At that, he stops cold turkey, but this only goes to make him more irritable and miserable and the arm still doesn't work how he wants it to._

_As a child, he never ran to his dad when he was having problems. He'd first go to his nanny, and when he had outgrown her he'd run to the housekeeper, and when she wasn't available he'd run to his mother to grasp at her long skirt and hide his face between the folds while she did her best to console him and offer ways to meditate the problems he was facing._

_Never his father. The man was a very busy person, and Simmons already had the weight of his constant disappointment on his shoulders, he didn't want to add any more or else he would break his back._

_But that year, halfway through the second semester and so done with everything, for the first time in his life he runs to his father for help. He was the one who procured the prosthesis, he could get the manufacturers to fucking fix it so he could go back to being a model student and an average and plain person._

_Unbeknownst to him, his father had gone off the literal deep end. Dick didn't see him enough to recognize the unhinged tilt to his stance, the way his eyes sharpened into jagged spikes whenever staring at anyone who wasn't his wife or son, he didn't even notice the way that his father had become more physically affectionate towards him. Having been starved from a father-son relationship, he simply takes the head ruffles and side hugs in stride._

_Hid dad promises that he'll get his arm right. In fact, he promises that he'll fix everything that had gone wrong with his son’s perfect body- Dick didn't need a cane anymore but there was a small lag to his gait if anyone was paying attention._

_Dick, frustrated, and having heard that all of his problems would be fixed, agrees to everything his father tells him. He agrees to additional corrective surgeries and plans them all during the end of his second semester so that he could go into his second year as the person he was before the crash._

_He willingly goes into the surgery in good faith, and perhaps that's why he wasn't expecting the results when he woke up. But really, he should have known that the man who told him to never be openly dishonest but to say enough platitudes to get what you want would know how to use that own skill for himself._

_When Dick wakes up from the surgery, there's somehow even more metal and electronics embedded into his body._

_When his father promised he would fix his leg, what he really meant was that he would replace the thing entirely._

_When his father threw in that he would even pay for laser eye surgery to correct his eyesight, what he really meant was that he would be getting rid of the eyeballs altogether. Replaced them with something shiny and advanced and his head swam in pain at all of the things he could suddenly now process._

_This wasn't what he wanted, not in the slightest, he wasn't a fucking apotemnophiliac!_

_His father didn't stop there, and while he left Dick alone for the most part- having satiated some desire to experiment on his own son and dip fingers into the field of body modifications- he became an even more fervent supporter of unethical illegal science._

_And somewhere down the line, that leads him to attempt to create his own dimensional portal._

_He doesn't get very far, and Simmons is there to witness the downfall of his bastard of a father. At this point, he dropped out of college entirely and sequestered himself in his childhood room, his mother infuriated at the actions of his father and wanting to coddle him she shut him in the mansion and never let him out. That's about how far her rage over the incident is, which is typical of her that Simmons can't even find it in himself to roll his eyes._

_And truthfully, he's fine with the situation. Staying away from other people is exactly what he needs because the past few years of his life had been filled with fumbling through friendships and ruined relationships. He never made it far with the partners he's had, never wanting to go the extra step because then he would have to present his naked body to them, and he's ugly. He really is ugly. But his continued refusal of intercourse drives them all away in the end. So him being stuck in his, admittedly large, childhood room surrounded by things he's no longer passionate about acts as a good barrier between him and the adulthood he just cannot grasp by the horns._

_It's because he's staying at the mansion, that he's there when strangely uniformed officers appear out of thin air and barge into his father's office to arrest the man right on the spot. His father doesn't get a chance to say anything before they're placing a strange weapon against his temple and firing, effectively shutting him up._

_His mother is petrified, and she's frozen at the scene before her. Her hands are pressed firmly over her mouth as she watches her husband get taken away by these officers._

_And Simmons? Simmons knows all about fight or flight. He knows about freeze or faun._

_Simmons has been trained to faun his entire life._

_So when two of the officers- the embroidered 'DIME' sticking out to him in the memory of this day- pause to stare at him and his cybernetics, he asks about who they are. Why did they come here?_

_How did they get here?_

_They indulge him, briefly explaining that they were dimensional officers that monitored the multiverse. His father was being arrested because he was one step off the ledge that would have labeled him a Dimensional Criminal and they were lucky to have put a stop to it before it got to that point._

_And Simmons lets them drag his father away, and when a few days letter he gets a letter saying that DIME has taken an interest in him- were willing to ignore his bloodline even- he thinks that this could be it. He could be useful again, he could perform to the best of his abilities, and even actively use the modifications his father forced upon him to capture people that would end up as that man's cellmates._

_He has high hopes for this new path in life._

_Until he gets to the interview, and the agent leading it tells him how he has all the qualities to make an excellent leader- a Captain, they tell him._

_Captains don't need extensive surgery, they reassure him. Just one thing and it'd be quick and then he'd be done. It's a part of the re-registration process even, to get his new ID Card situated._

_What they don't tell him- dishonest, dishonest, dishonest his mind hisses- is that said surgery was to implant a pin in his head that would let the DIME Corps know his active status. That this pin also acted to suppress memories of the officer’s past dimensions. They would only know DIME. They would think that this void that barely counted as a solar system was their own dimension._

_And Simmons? He's learned to not be honest, and especially not dishonest. Simple affirm what they want to hear. Say nothing of it. Don't attempt to shift their world view, it would simply not work._

_Simmons considers it his own act of defiance to not inform DIME that their pin doesn't work on him, his anti-virus software that his father had maniacally added to his person removed the program that would change his memories._

_He doesn't say anything to correct the agents of this. Instead, he sends a thank you out to his father, for being a bastard that thought ahead of the game, even when none of them even realized it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simmons has his own problems in the DIME AU as well, but I wonder if I did a good enough job showing the internal dialogue difference between Simmons with his low self-esteem and Grif's disordered thinking. I guess you guys will just have to let me know!
> 
> If you recall, back in chapter 2, Grif notes that Simmons' face darkens after he mentions _their_ own dimension. Now you know why.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	12. I Think I've Broken Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken Down | Broken Bones | **Broken Trust**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was sorta not feeling this chapter, mainly because while this does start the Simmons Development B Plot in the present time, it was also a very so-so chapter to me. It's the introduction of conflict, yeah, but still.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; broken trust, disordered thinking, thoughts of violence, manipulation_

Something was up with Simmons. Grif couldn't put his finger as to _what_ that was, but the Captain couldn't hide it from his Pilot.

And it didn't make sense as to why Simmons would be particularly perturbed by the next dimension that they wound up in. If anything, Grif would have thought that the man would be relieved by what they were greeted with. The very familiar sight of houses upon houses all lined up like ticky-tacky little boxes were exactly what their previous jurisdiction was. Residential areas, and navigating them, was like second nature to the two of them.

Plus, this dimension wasn't abandoned and sickly like T8's world was. They could glimpse people milling about walking their dogs, kids playing ball in the streets with their friends, and the older citizens chilling on the porch with a glass of cold sweet tea in their frail and wrinkled hands.

Sure, maybe Grif could understand that Simmons was nervous about this area being laid to waste by the Assets. But that wasn't it. The Captain was tense before even glancing up at his surroundings, and considering that he walked through the portal first whilst Grif was preoccupied seeing just who had died to that alien, that meant he was deep in thought.

And whatever path his mind led him down had him conflicted. Grif could tell by the way his eyes occasionally darted towards his own, by the way that he bit on a hangnail, and especially by the way that he would pause ever so often, fidgeting in place as if he left something behind and needed to go back for it.

If only the other man would just come out and say what was bothering him. That would make things so much easier for Grif, he didn't have the patience to wheedle out the information, and quite frankly he didn't care that much to do so. If whatever pissed in Simmons' cereal didn't affect Grif then it was none of his business.

They began their methodical search, employing their usual and original tactics for finding Dimensional Criminals, and made their way block by block all throughout the suburb.

So far, they had no such luck finding either Asset. And there weren't any distressing reports or acts of violence that could draw attention to the two men, which was good for the people of this dimension, not so much for them. 

This dimension was safe for the moment, and Grif already knew that this one would be a bust. If the Assets weren't coming out of hiding, then maybe they were taking the chance to recuperate without the threat of a monstrous creature coming out of nowhere to kill them. While Grif was over the encounter- the thing was dead now, and that really granted him peace of mind- maybe Simmons wasn't. And that could be why he was so tense and ready to sprint away at the slightest breeze against his shoulder.

Speaking of Simmons, the other man was beginning to slow to a crawl now, until his legs stopped moving entirely.

Grif fell in line behind him, waiting for the Captain to say something. Probably about where the Assets were, or maybe it was another case of them backtracking and muddling the residue trail. But Simmons didn't speak up, and instead pressed the metal circle against the side of his head and deactivated his HUD.

Raising an eyebrow at the action, Grif squinted at the man, "You haven't turned that thing off since we started. Why'd you do it now?"

Simmons fiddled with his hands, fingers nervously pulling at the skin beside his nails and making it turn rubbery and slightly raised.

"Grif do- do you ever think about, well, are you happy with your job?" Simmons asked, nervously tilting his head to the side as he continued the mutilation of his fingers.

"No. That's a no brainer," he rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask to be a SEO, literally no one asks to be a DIME. And you'd have to be a real fucking weirdo to actually enjoy watching thousands of different universes at once. Why are you even bothering to ask that?"

"It's just-" Simmons grappled with his words and struggled to find a way to say it eloquently. "I think we should give up."

Grif blinked. Then blinked again. His hearing must be going, because he thought he just heard Simmons say that they should _give up._

"You're joking, right?" Grif asked, just to be sure. "Last I checked _you_ were the one who dragged us into this fucking mission."

"I know! I know!" he raked a hand through his hair, an exasperated look flashing on his face. "I just- this is all pointless! We've been chasing them for nearly two weeks straight! And we haven't gotten close, not even once!"

 _"'We can contain this. Easy,'"_ Grif pitched his voice to match the other man’s. "I recall you saying that to me when you twisted my arm behind my back and got me to agree to act without being ordered to in following those two."

Simmons was growing frantic, and Grif was getting angrier as he stared at his Captain.

"I know- don't remind me," Simmons whimpered. "It was stupid and short-sighted-"

"You fucking think?!" Grif snarled. A couple walking by gave the two a passing glance before continuing on their way. People seldom became concerned with this that didn't revolve around themselves. And this wasn't something they should walk in on in any case. "We're in this shit now, there's no backing out, we had that opportunity earlier on."

"I'm sorry! Ok?!" Simmons shook his head and raised a hand to firmly press his palm against his forehead. "We should have- there wasn't a guarantee that DIME would have terminated us for what happened. It was an ambush and we were just patrolling and taking stock, just the two of us, it's understandable-"

"You seemed real convinced that we would have been killed for our mistakes before," Grif cut him off.

His fists were starting to shake as the other man tried to convince him that Grif was right from the beginning. That infuriated him, the fact that they could have avoided all of this if Simmons had just relented to what Grif was saying about not taking on something way above their pay grade.

"I just-" Simmons stopped and took a deep breath. Then he continued, "How much more of this can we take?"

We. _We?_

"What do you mean by _we,"_ Grif's voice is laced with as much arsenic as he can possibly include.

The Captain must not have realized that he overstepped and he decided to throw himself further off the cliff when he said, "These dimensions haven't been kind-"

"To you? They haven't done _anything_ to you," the Pilot exhales shakily. "I'm sorry, did I miss the part where you saw your own dead body- _twice?_ Or how about the time you got shot in the leg, I must have completely missed that entirely. Point out the dimensional designation. Do it, I fucking dare you."

Simmons had paled, and now he must have realized where exactly he fucked up. Grif bubbles with loathing, and he imagines what it would be like if he just grabbed the other man right now and slammed his face against the gravel. Stepped on his back like Felix-Z had done to him, taken his neutralizer and aimed straight for his calf. Taken him by the neck and locked him in a room to either starve, die of dehydration, or the final and deadly blow of electrocution that would cause his weak heart to just give up. Or maybe he would bury him deep, deep beneath the ground, and watched the time between gulps go down and down as the man ran out of air.

He could even go out of his way to invent new ways of pain for the other man, if he wanted to feel special and have his own form of punishment, Grif could go ahead and do the universe a favor by acting it out himself. Simmons had those cybernetics, didn't he? Grif wonders what it would feel like to yank on them, to see the pain contort onto Simmons' face. _Then_ he could say that _they_ were going through a lot. Then he could say _how much more can we take?_

But he doesn't act on these urges, he's had years of holding himself back, he wasn't going to let some stupid Captain break his calm resolve.

However, he can't let the idea of them giving up now pass. Grif hates doing work, he hates it so much, but it's become personal. If he tripped at the finish line- however far that may be from where they're at now- he would stew over it for the rest of his life. It would never happen, he would never be able to best the Assets, he'd be a fucking idiot to think that. But, perhaps he could watch them get ripped to shreds by something like that alien from the last dimension. Or he'd even be satisfied with one landed neutralizer hit. He'd gotten a small taste at seeing Locus-S15 writhe on the ground, and it was almost addicting how much he wanted it to have been the real Asset.

Simmons wanting to stop now when Grif had wanted to stop in the beginning, he just couldn't let that slide.

So he pulls out all of the stops, works towards the other man's weakest point- his need to please, his inability to deny the orders of his superiors.

"Simmons," he sighs, forcing all the heat and poison out of his mouth and off of his tongue. "It's- I'm tired too, you know?"

Not objectively false. This whole thing has made his bones ache.

The other man's resolve has started to wane, and this is clearly the route to go, as his softening up has caused the other man to do the same, "I just don't like seeing you hurt."

That's hilarious because now Grif wants to see _him_ hurt. He, the one who has avoided the worst of it so far, he who caused his getting shot.

"I don't like seeing myself or other versions of myself hurt either-" now that was a clear lie. Grif doesn't know why he has to say it so many times, but at the moment it works in his favor, because so long as Simmons doesn't remember the way he reaffirms _they're not me, so I don’t care about them_ constantly then he couldn't call him out on this lie. "But we have a duty to DIME so that we can return back to our dimension not as much of a failure as normal."

And like that, Grif has practically lost Simmons' from his constricting grip. He doesn't even know where he fucked up- maybe bringing up DIME? He thought for sure mentioning that the higher-ups would be disappointed if they gave up completely would have the other man back in his place.

"Grif- I- I have something to tell you," Simmons stammered.

The magma in his gut has turned white-hot.

That was it. That was the reason why Simmons looked and felt so wrong.

He had information. Information that he had been _keeping_ from Grif.

Grif didn't like Simmons, but he could at least say that he trusted him to a degree. He thought he could expect Simmons to tell him everything, incapable of lying or hiding. But here is the evidence, in so little words, that the other man is capable of keeping things to himself. Things that concerned _Grif._

Not only did that mean that he knew absolutely nothing about Simmons, because how often did he hold things back? Grif knew that he was a kissass with a deep innate desire to feel appreciated by bending over backward for others and asking how high to fucking jump when asked.

With that, that one sentence, whatever semblance of trust Grif held for the man crumbled to dust.

The Captain has noticed his shift, the faux-softening being replaced by contempt, and he backtracks to say, "It's- it's really admirable that you're putting all of this work into something for once, you know?"

Had Simmons revealed what he knew that Grif didn't, maybe he would have let the subject drop. He was already planning on distancing himself from the man. But now he needed to know- he had to know what Simmons knew that he didn't. Something about DIME.

He couldn't press the issue right now. He was de-escalating to get his way on purpose, if he just pitched a fit now, he would never get his way.

So he accepts the lie, and lies himself, "I'm just thinking about how we'll be rewarded with a vacation to the casino's when we get back. All this work, we deserve some time to ourselves after."

It works, and then they get back to the mission, the HUD popping back up. And Grif doesn't follow behind Simmons. He stalks. He thinks about everything he can say or do to get Simmons to tell him what he was going to say.

And then he'll drop the man and rake him across the coals for thinking he could keep it from Grif.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two flashback chapters are very important for understanding this chapter. In Grif's, you guys got the first look at Grif's aggressive nature that he's learned to hold back on. But you also got to see what causes the anger- it has to relate back to himself. He got mad because Kai was _his_ sister. He gets mad at Simmons thinking he was getting more hurt than the other versions of _himself._ Grif does not care for either people by themselves, only as extensions of himself.
> 
> Whereas, in Simmons' chapter, there's the reveal that the pins are actively suppressing the memories of DIME officer's original dimensions, and it doesn't work on him because of his cybernetics. There's also insight onto how Simmons tends to reflect the answers and behaviors of the people he is attempting to endear himself to, which leads him to hold back information when it does not fit the view of the other, first shown when his parents enforced the skill against his teachers and later when he doesn't tell DIME that the surgery didn't work. I also demonstrated how his thinking versus Grif's thinking is _very_ different, and that Grif is an unreliable narrator.
> 
> I hope you guys liked this chapter! If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	13. Breathe In Breathe Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | **Oxygen Mask**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't really feeling this chapter, plus while writing I kept falling asleep and jerking back away so I decided to make it pretty short when compared to other chapters. This is purely so that I can make sure I make the daily deadline whereas in DIMEcord I can afford to spend some more time or even pass out as it's not constricted by the Whumptober Event proper.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; mention of corpses, oxygen mask, discussion of a corrupt organization_

Things are noticeably tense between the two, with Grif seething in silence and Simmons holding back vital information. Oh, Grif didn't act on any of his anger, and Simmons didn't try to broach the subject of giving up again, but even then, they couldn't quite return back to their search the same way that they had started it.

Grif's become determined to sweeten Simmons up to the point where he'd willingly give over the information. And that requires not showing any signs of aggression or displeasure. He's even going a step further and avoiding any and all talk about the DIME since that had set Simmons off last time.

He's almost positive that whatever Simmons knows that he doesn't is about the Corps. And that just makes it even more dubious that the other man will not simply divulge this information to Grif.

Grif's not an idiot, he's very much aware that the DIME Corps are amoral at best, corrupt at worst. They get away with far too much because they do not answer to anyone- they are at the top of command. How exactly would you go about punishing an organization that monitors every single dimension anyhow? The only ones in charge of decision making at DIME were the Board of Directors and even then they didn't answer to anyone either. The only being that could possibly command the DIME would be time and space itself. And since neither of those was personified, they were practically a formality at best.

So, DIME performed experiments. They developed new technology for their own gain only. They took people and- and-

They recruited people into their organization without a care as to what those people wanted for themselves. And Grif knew people who took this as a good thing- a sign that they were chosen and special and that therein granted them superiority over others from different dimensions. They could traverse the multiverse without fear of arrest- for missions only but that's already a step above everyone else- and they experienced things and worlds that people could only ever dream and hypothesize of.

Not that Grif was taken by any of this. He would have preferred to just live a chill life by himself. Working for a greater good didn't appeal to him or make him feel self-important, it just made him tired. Most of the SEO's thought the same, but only because they hadn't made the cut for being a DEO. They thought their talents were being wasted, but honestly, what talents did they even have? Beyond a few high rankers, Grif hadn't seen any evidence that the DIME was a cut above the rest.

So DIME was a shithole. But Grif thought that he had known every reason for why that was. Apparently not if Simmons was privy to other reasons.

And Grif had to know. And to gain said insight, he had to pretend like he still trusted and slightly cared for his Captain.

But his acting must have been slightly off-kilter if Simmons was still apprehensive when responding to his casual conversations. Probably still spooked and wary because of the fight. That only meant that Grif would have to play the long game on this. Which was just fine with him, considering that this mission was practically never-ending they had all the time in the multiverse to get to the point of confiding in each other.

In any case, the last dimension had been very tame and dull, excluding the fight that they had had. One would think that due to the large population size and the lack of defenses, the Assets might have wanted to kill a few people here and there, but that wasn't meant to be. The dimension was left intact- but their Captain and Pilot relationship in repair- and they moved swiftly onto the next. At least, they were supposed to until actually stepping out of the portal.

Upon exiting, Grif felt a sudden pressure practically caress and crush his windpipes, his eyes straining against his skull, and his breath literally being stolen from him. Simmons was the same way, taken aback by the lack of air, and the two of them ducked back into the portal to the normal dimension and took greedy gulps of air.

Gasping, Grif shook his head and was grateful at the removed pressure. Once he was confident that his lungs weren't going to collapse or something, he wet his lips that had dried instantly to say, "Well, now we can say that we literally stood outside in space for a hot second before getting the fuck out."

Simmons recovered much quicker than he, as one of his lungs was purely mechanical, and tugged on his hair as he nervously sputtered, "How- how are we supposed to navigate through  _ that?" _

Grif took a moment to question why the Assets would have chosen that as their drop off point in the next dimension. Through dry and hazy eyes, Grif saw that there was a larger structure that they had stepped off on, except on the outside of it of course. And considering that they were greeted with the cold expanse of space, he would be willing to call the structure a space station. An interesting choice considering that the last dimension the Assets had traveled to that had a space station also contained a ravenous alien creature that feasted upon human flesh. If Grif were them he would have gone out of his way to avoid dimensions like that going forward.

It could be a case of retrying until you got your desired results. It would explain why they were outside of the station instead of in it.

But then again, the armor that the Assets have could have affected the entrance point.  _ They _ had helmets, but the SEOs didn't. By all means, this should be the reason why they could get away and finally shake the two of them off of their tails.

They obviously did not get the memo of Grif's hate boner for them. Because having been faced with the hurdle of not being able to breathe, Grif opened up a portal back to DIME- specifically the equipment center- and stepped through it determined to locate the oxygen masks. After procuring two of them, he returned back to Simmons and handed one of them to him, saying, "Here's how."

To call it an oxygen mask was honestly a tad disingenuous to the device. It acted much in a similar manner to the helmets the Assets had, except it was practically all a clear visor, showcasing the faces of both men. With the mask was a heavy canister of air that was be filtered constantly and recycled. Truthfully, Grif didn't understand half the science that went into the device, but he had listened to Simmons excitedly geek out about it for a full two weeks after DIME announced that they were completely past the testing phase and now the equipment would be available to all branches of the DIME.

Technically, you were supposed to check out the equipment that you took but Grif could not give a single shit about that at the moment. Instead, he slotted the mask over his face, and it the sterilization process startup. Simmons did the same, and he didn't look quite pleased.

Now that they had the little issue resolved, Grif didn't hesitate to reopen the portal to the new dimension and step out reassured that his head wouldn't fucking crystalize or explode or whatever the fuck. He didn't even have to worry about drifting off and getting lost in a forward path due to the lack of gravity as his feet stuck firmly onto the metal of the space station. All DIME regulated boots had magnetic plates along the soles that would activate during shifts in gravity. You never knew when you would step out into a dimension that was all upside down after all. 

Hanging from the bottom of a giant metal structure wasn't as weird as it may have seemed, it just took a minute to reorient himself before he could ignore the tingling sensation growing in his head.

"Kind of strange that this is what they would choose," Simmons muttered, talking a few cautious steps forward, gazing at the wide expanse of grey with trepidation. "I certainly am not fond of the way it reminds me of the dimension from two crosses back."

"I'm not surprised that this is something that they would choose to go to, it sort of feels like they're trying to psyche us out," Grif responds, making his voice airy and light. "At the very least they probably weren't expecting us to have access to oxygen masks."

"True," Simmons conceded.

Together, the two of them started to walk forward, and honestly, there weren't many places to hide on the outside hull. So they were looking for a way inside of the station itself, like some sort of hatch or disposable shoot that they could crawl through. The chances of there being a monster  _ also _ on this structure barely crossed his mind. He trusted that Locus-X would fight against going to a dimension like that purely to fuck with the SEO's, Locus-X seemed like he had all of the brain cells in your partnership.

"I don't think I'm ever gonna get that monster out of my head," Simmons opens up, and Grif preens because if he was willing to share that to fill the uncomfortable silence they had established then that must mean his acting docile was a step in the right direction. "What about you?"

"I'm pretty satisfied that it's dead," Grif shrugged. "Getting to see its corpse and the way it absolutely bit into Hammer's pitiful ass definitely gave me peace of mind."

Simmons slowed to a stop.

"You looked outside of the room," Simmons frowned tightly. "When did that even happen?"

"After you stepped through the portal," Grif shrugged. He didn't see what the big deal was about this specific corpse-peeking. Simmons didn't seem to have a problem when he walked into that factory and peered down at every dead or nearly dead corpse left behind. Nor did he care that Grif went back for a second look upon the initial finding of W19's body. His looking to see just who died was that big of a deal. Grif didn't even get some sort of weird kick to it like some freaks tended to do- he simply felt distant from the deaths and thus doesn't particularly care for the people whose lives were lost but rather what he could glean from their corpse. "I just wanted to see who it was."

"Oh." Silence. "And w-who was it exactly?"

"Hammer," Grif said, completely missing the look of horror on the other man's face. "And whoever the fuck his captain was."

"That's really unfortunate," Simmons said, and Grif had no idea what he meant by that. Was it unfortunate that he died? Grif supposes. It could be that Simmons had a presumed attachment to the other officer due to them going through conditioning together, but considering that Grif went through the Pilot surgery with him he just couldn't understand why he'd be so affected by it. He was just some dude, and an asshole to boot. "That could've been- well."

Could've been them? Perhaps. It was a bad time, bad place end for Hammer and his Captain. And they haven't been loud assholes every time they step into a new dimension, so perhaps they could have still had a chance to avoid the monster if it was them. There's probably a universe where that happens.

As of now, Grif wants to just get inside the space station and be done with all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think of this chapter as the silence after a storm hits. Like there's a crackle of tension in the air but 'relief' is on its way, with the 'relief' here being Grif's subtle manipulations towards Simmons to get him to reveal the Pin's.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) @amateurscribes (writing)!


	14. Is Something Burning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Branding** | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write, even if it's moderately lengthed. Not too big but not too small. I hope you all like it!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; branding, violence, corrupt governments, dystopian world_

The thing that he's come to find about the concept of the multiverse is that anything goes. There can, and often is, be a dimension for every little thing. And he means  _ everything. _ Often dimensions act tangentially from each other or run parallel with only the smallest differences- like someone turning left instead of right when walking home one day. Which meant that dimensions often were repetitive and that there wasn't much of a difference between one Null to the next. Which is why when prominent duplicates appear it's pretty fucking noticeable. Even then, despite functioning around dimensions and all, there were no doubles in the DIME- apparently, they searched out for the most outstanding version of a person and recruited them. Which is a very nice way to say that they purposefully searched for the most fucked up and useful version.

But as he said,  _ anything goes. _ Honestly, Grif should have been expecting him and Simmons to stumble upon a truly fucked up dimension for a while now. Oh, sure, seeing two dead Nulls of himself was macabre from an outsider perspective, not that he was particularly bothered by it, but the worlds themselves? Tame. A little fucked here or there but what's a machine without a rusted gear or two? No, those world's were not even in the top rankings for what could classify as a truly messed up dimension.

This dimension though? The one where they walked out and the sky was red and covered in a suffocating smog, tall buildings reaching straight up into the heavens, all blaring bright neon signs that contributed a layer of light pollution to the dying world. A big bustling city, metallic and covered in grates and pipes, and yet the people had their heads pointed straight down towards the ground, moving to and fro but never interacting with each other, not even to clip the shoulder of another man passing by. Their clothing didn't stand out, being drab and monotone, lacking any signs of color or personality. Everyone looked exactly the same.

Everything screamed  _ dystopia _ and it sparked a tiny flare inside of him that trilled in excitement. Things had started to get dull and boring, and by no means was he some sort of attention-seeking maniac. But considering that the multiverse didn't work at the same time, the days had blurred together and sleepless nights had completely obfuscated the last threads of stable progression that they had been making. Instead of days, they considered things by portal jumps. Instead of saying  _ 'yesterday' _ they had to say  _ 'last dimension.' _

With so little to distinguish the passage of time, having a world like this stand out helped things snap in place.

Grif looked around with peering eyes trying to find cameras watching all of the denizens, giant billboards with government propaganda,  _ something _ that could add a little more context for what type of dystopia they were dealing with. Was it one brought upon by a resurgence of technology? Were they popped right out in the middle of a crumbling late-stage capitalistic society? Perhaps even-

"This is so freaky," Simmons commented as they stood in the middle of the sidewalk and watched as the people parted around them. Grif watched in amusement as they did so. His brain was overworking attempting to figure out whether this was a social trait beaten into them all or if something about their appearance commanded authority. Considering that the two wore nearly pristine- they did wash their uniforms not too long ago when they had the chance too since even Grif got uncomfortable constantly wearing an outfit caked in grime and dried blood- uniforms.

"I think it's hilarious," and he actually did think it was funny. He couldn't imagine losing the multiversal lottery like this. So many dimensions, so many different ways his life could have ended so much more fucked up.

Simmons balked at him, and then he narrowed his eyes, a small amount of anger slipping past his lips, "This is fucked up."

"You're right, it is," Grif conceded, but internally he was still amused by it. "How long until we run into either your Null or mine?"

"You shouldn't hope for something like that," Simmons snapped.

The Pilot waved him off, and considering that that was the end of the conversation, the two of them went right to work, striding forward and getting deeper and deeper into the bowels of the city. Some people openly stared at them, and while they ignored them often, Grif couldn't stop from dissecting them in his mind, searching for some sort of clue as to how this dimension functioned.

So far, he's gathered that there was a large group of people that had tattoo-like symbols embedded onto the back of their hands. Different symbols too. He wondered what it meant if it was indicative of social status? Class? Something else perhaps? He'd stop to interrogate one of them, but Simmons would openly complain and that would damper the whole thing. 

Grif used to read a lot, having no friends and just wanting to escape to somewhere else. And he'd read all these stories talking about corruption and greed only to find himself swept up into the DIME later in life. So he pulled up book after book in his mind and purred in satisfaction when they finally stumbled upon something interesting.

A widescreen projector was displaying for the whole world to see what looked like the sentencing for a group of presumed criminals. All of the people on that stage were openly sobbing, making a mess out of their faces as their eyes became red and puffy and snot dribbled down their chin mixing with saliva as they gasped out.

The two SEO's stalled to a halt to watch the proceedings.

A blank masked figure wearing a dark uniform walked off the screen before returning with a prod that was smoldering and red from heat. Grif's mind supplied to him that it was a  _ branding iron. _ Holding it tightly, the man walked straight towards a trembling figure, looking up at him with eyes that begged for mercy.

"On the account of stealing rations, we find the defendant Charles Palomo guilty," the figure declared, voice being edited to hell and back by a modifier that must have been connected to the mask. "Punishment, the brand of a thief."

Then without any hesitation, another similarly dressed figure reached out and grabbed the kid's arm to prostrate it before the executioner. The kid struggled against the restraint, but couldn't do much more than thrash desperately as the prod was placed directly against the back of his hand. The poor bastard howled in pain as the symbol was seared into his hand, and by the time that the executioner pulled the iron back, his eyes had rolled into the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground, arm sliding off of the podium.

They didn't pay the teenager any attention as they moved onto the next. The executioner stepped off-screen once more and returned with the same branding iron reheated.

"On the account of stealing rations and assaulting an officer, we find the defendant Antoine Bitters guilty," the young adult looked the most composed out of the batch, but he still trembled as his eyes tracked every movement of the man before him, eyes lit up by the embers of the iron. "Punishment, the brand of a thief and deviant."

Just like before a man restrained the defendant and the prod was pressed against the skin on the back of his hand. Grif was impressed that the kid could hold himself for as long as he did, biting down hard enough that Grif was sure that he must have cracked a tooth. Simmons let out a shaky breath beside him, but the Pilot watched on avidly wondering what a double brand would look like.

The executioner walked off-screen and returned with a new iron, wasting no time to repeat the convictions before pressing down the iron onto the young adult's  _ other _ hand. That was when the older teen lost his composure and bellowed out in pain, but compared to the kid who went before him he didn't pass out after the experience. Instead, he turned to the side away from the unconscious younger teen and emptied his guts on stage.

And it continued like that straight down the line, going one by one, with each defendant getting more and more distressed as they looked ahead to see how many it was before it was their turn. Grif let the brands consume his thoughts, logging all of them into memory: thief, deviant, murderer, terrorist, traitor, a whole list of things that ranged from someone just trying to make ends meet and eat at the end of the day to the attempted assassination of the  _ Prime Leader. _

He turned his attention away from the live broadcast and looked more avidly towards the people milling about like ants in a colony. Now that he knew what the symbols meant he could point out the thieves, the predators, the deviants, and everyone in between. It was exhilarating to have this knowledge now, and even more curious that he could spot murderers walking freely. No real death penalty, no arrests, the only punishments for crimes seemed to be permanent scarring and raised skin to show the world what exactly you did.

Something like that should have led to pure anarchy- how could you let someone charged with conspiracy of assassination go scot-free and not expect them to turn around and just try again? Or the ones marked down for vandalism or even the ones listed for murder? What's stopping them beyond that mark? Why hasn't the society devolved into straight anarchy yet?

There must be some sort of dynamic at play here involving the brands. Something that just being condemned with a brand cowed even the scum of society. Money perhaps- or even the amount of rations one could get. Reduced rights?

"This... this is sick," Simmons faintly looked like he wanted to throw up just as Bitters had.

Simmons really had weak skin if this was getting to him. Grif pointed out, "It would make sense for the Assets to be here, it's practically a breeding ground for chaos. I give it a few more hours before they kill someone important just to see everyone scramble around."

It turns out, it would not be a few hours before that happened. They actually ended up staying in that dimension for a few days at  _ least. _ It was kind of hard to tell if the dimension worked on the same clock or even weekly schedule, but many moons and suns had risen and fallen while they tracked down and tried to trap the Assets. This was another thing that Grif was wondering if it would happen sooner or later. 

The Assets grew to notoriety by making a  _ name _ for themselves. Kind of hard to do if you only spend one day in a dimension. Although the city where they blew up three skyscrapers would certainly remember that day, it wasn't near the level of their previous endeavors.

And in that time that they were stuck in this one dimension, they had to subdue and neutralize at least six separate secret police fuckers that tried to pull some bullshit on them breaking the laws. The great thing about being a part of DIME was that the laws of the dimensions they monitored did not apply to them. Plus, they only acted on DIME jurisdiction and they certainly wouldn't get blamed for using their neutralizers to protect themselves from the hostile dimensions.

Felix-Z and Locus-X were also apparently having a field day with all of the deaths that they had caused. Suddenly, a bunch of high-ranking officials were getting picked off one by one and it was creating a power vacuum that whatever government that was currently in control was scrambling to put figureheads into place. Grif suspected they were trying to push the dimension one step closer to destroying itself.

He'd be proven right when, on live television, Locus-X assassinates the Prime Leader in front of  _ everyone. _

It didn't take longer than a second before the riots started.

The Prime Leader must have been some bitch considering that her death instantly sparked the fires of revolution into all of the desolate bastards, tired of being painted with a broad range of crimes that could- depending on the person- encompass the entirety of their arms with brands.

Considering that they had stayed a while in this dimension, the Assets do not wait for the Key to recharge before escaping the pandemonium and onto the next dimension. Which meant that Grif and Simmons could leave the hellscape too. His Captain was very relieved by this, and Grif was only moderately disappointed that he wouldn't get to see the full scope of things play out. But he's sure that it would have ended in a bloodbath that wouldn't stop until everyone either submitted under the corrupt boot of the government again or they all died. Died finally having stood up for themselves.

It would have been so fascinating to see it all go down in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to show how diverse Felix-Z and Locus-X are with destroying dimensions. There are casual attempts, such as outright destroying buildings and causing people to die, but there's also this method of undermining a fundamental part of what makes the dimension function and then watching as it collapses on itself. 
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	15. Into the Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possession | Magical Healing | **Science Gone Wrong**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting to get to today's prompt so I'm super excited to share it with you! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter!
> 
> For the duration of the event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; science gone wrong, human experimentation, supernatural beings and phenomena_

The Assets must have been going for a fucked up dimension streak. Because while stepping out into the new dimension it seemed innocuous at first, quickly turned out to be very much not that.

They landed by a mountainside with an expansive towering forest. A light fog rumbled around and obscured their view of anything past ten feet. Grif groaned slightly because they hadn't been corrupted with something like this yet. He can already imagine how this would turn out- they go in as the hunters and swiftly turn into the hunted. The Pilot was in no mood to get chased down through rough terrain like this.

But hey, maybe they would stumble upon a lake and complete their monopoly over the BLUEs.

Turning to the mountain while Simmons mapped out the forest, thank god for the HUD at least, Grif wandered along the edge of it for no reason in particular. It didn't look climbable, which was good because Grif honestly didn't think he could put out the exertion necessary to do that had the Assets gone up instead of forward.

His wanderings did lead him to something interesting actually.

"Hey Simmons," he called out, watching as the Captain paused the program he was running to turn towards him. "Check it."

He pointed towards the human-like silhouette carved into the mountain. Walking closer to it, he placed his foot where it could fit comfortably in the leg indent and hauled himself up so that he was leaning a tad into it.

"It's my hole!" he called out with a sharp cackle.

Simmons paled rapidly, and hurried over to pull Grif off of the mountainside, exclaiming, "Don't even joke about that! What the fuck, Grif!"

Rolling his eyes, he huffed and crossed his arms, "Come on, it's funny, and typically people are supposed to laugh at funny things."

"Do you even know how horrifying that story is," and Simmons shivered as he recalled it. "That gave me nightmares for weeks!"

Yeah, Grif recalls because  _ he _ was the one who introduced him to the collection of horror stories in the first place. And he had the unfortunate luck of sharing a room with the Captain.

"It's just a joke," now Grif's mood was starting to sour. Had Tucker been here he would have been way more receptive to the reference Grif was trying to pull. "It's not... like..."

And Grif trailed off because the fog had started to recede and revealed that it wasn't  _ just _ some weird indent in a mountain but actually a  _ collection of them. _ Spanning the entirety of the mountainside.

Both SEO's were shocked into silence.

Grif himself had to blink a few times to process whether he was seeing that right, and he would never admit it but his jaw did drop slightly.

Yeah, no. As a joke, it's funny but-

"No, I'm out," Simmons said as he turned sharply and walked far, far away from the mountain. "No thanks."

He held his tongue about saying something like,  _ 'how out of character for the white main in a horror setting' _ and instead opted to say, "Uh, so, off chance. Should we  _ check _ to see if any of these are vaguely Locus-X and Felix-Z like? Follow up question, what would we even  _ do _ if this shit is real and they got swept up in that type of mania."

"We are  _ NOT _ checking," Simmons stomped his foot in the dirt. "I draw the line here with this shit. Normal universes with humans fucking up shit I can handle. But real-life horror shit? Absolutely not, I'd rather eat my own leg."

Staring at the mountainside and then staring off into the forest, Grif knew that his gut reaction to being hunted in the woods was absolutely going to be true. Except now it could literally be  _ anything _ and not just the two assholes that they know best. 

Because of course, the Assets would choose a world where supernatural and horror shit was real. Grif could feel eyes staring at him from behind the trees, a slimy way that stuck with him as he followed after the irate Captain.

Ok, so perhaps he shouldn't have walked around the mountain, because then maybe they would have just started off with the forest and not have been consumed with the sense of being watched and foreboding. At least initially they could have assumed it was the Assets staring them down from afar. And fuck, that could still be it too, they just wouldn't know until whatever was following from a distance- and fuck if that didn't make him long for when it was the incompetent Kai-T8 tailing behind them, because at least she was an idiot and not a threat- caught up to them. Or if they got shot at from afar, then they would know for sure it was just the Assets. That being said, there was a weird  _ tik-tik _ sound that felt like it was right next to them but they never saw anything.

Speaking of, the Assets must have  _ definitely _ been to this dimension before, because Simmons noted that the dimensional residue had never been more confident in its path. One didn't just wander around unfamiliar woods if they didn't have  _ some _ general sense of direction.

The residue led them straight to a wide and long lake. So, yay, that would surely piss Tucker off later. But also, what the fuck  _ was in the lake. _ Because there's no way that there wasn't at least  _ something _ there.

He hoped it would be a siren, and he knew that those were salt-water creatures, not freshwater ones, but literally at least they would just drown or eat him for sure. If it was some sort of lake monster that wanted to fuck on the other hand then Grif would just fuck right off back to the DIME Corps. Let Simmons get involved with that shit.

Walking along the rim of the lake, Simmons also gave the water a wary look so perhaps Grif would be altruistic enough to let him hitch a ride back. They walked to the other side of the lake- far away from the forest they had come from, and therefore Death Mountain- and paused. The faint footsteps that had been left behind by the Assets just stomped at the edge where the water met the banks.

So either they walked straight into the lake which would solve their problems if they drowned or were  _ devoured by a hell lake demon, _ but Grif knew that they weren't that lucky which meant. There was some sort of secret passageway.

Simmons came to the same conclusion as him and the two of them looked around for fuck something. An out of place rock maybe.

But it was when Simmons took a step and his foot sunk into the sand that they heard a click and then a series of rumbles as a stone platform started to raise from where the footsteps ended. Grabbing his leg to yank his foot free, Simmons went stumbling back after escaping the suction whereas Grif walked on top of the platform.

It actually went far out into the lake, and Grif took a cautious look over the side to peer down at the murky waters. While he couldn't  _ see _ anything, he absolutely wasn't going to take the chance to get  _ real _ close, because that's what the monsters want him to do.

At the end of the raised platform was a metal hatch, and hearing Simmons' footsteps behind him, Grif didn't hesitate to grip the wheel tightly and start twisting it to loosen it. A hiss of air escape as he lifted the damn thing up, and before even setting a foot into it he looked down to see if the lights were on. He learned his lesson from the alien creature- the second he sees a dark hallway with red blaring lights he was out of there. 

But looking down a brightly lit passage down, the ladder in pristine shape with no hints of unsteadiness or rest. So. Probably not abandoned. That was good, maybe. They'll see.

Placing his foot down on the first step he gave it a small kick to see if it would hold. And it did, so then he followed with his next foot as he gripped the sides of the ladder. He made his way down, keeping his eyes open for things like cameras, and surprisingly enough there weren't any. Which was probably stupid since one would think that you would want to have security running at all entrances to your base or whatever the fuck this place was.

Once he reached the bottom steps, he hopped off and planted his feet firmly against the shiny tiled floor. There was a fancy looking door in front of him, and he started to approach it with one hand lying in wait above his neutralizer when he heard Simmons step off the ladder. The Captain fell in step behind him, ready to use his own neutralizer, but before Grif could activate the door it opened up with a swish itself, revealing a morbidly smiling woman in a lab coat.

"Welcome!" she greeted, not at all fazed by the neutralizers that they pulled against her. "We've been waiting for your arrival!"

Yeah, of course, that wasn't fucking creepy at all. They didn't move their weapons from her direction, but she merely turned and gestured for them to follow, announcing unprompted, "Our dear guests have just left, but they told us you wouldn't be far behind. We are so thankful for their patronage and hope to get yours as well!"

Ok, so, the Assets most definitely came through here, but why they would mention the two SEO's had Grif suspicious. This place was definitely shady as fuck, and the woman in front of them had to have a few screws loose if she was willing to deal with the Assets.

"Since you're new to Charon Industries, I'll show you our brief catalog," she pulled out a tablet from the inner pocket. "Although, if you're interested enough for the extended presentation, we can show you some of the new subjects that we've recently acquired."

Oh,  _ oh! _ So it was human experimentation. Or- if Grif considers what they've already stumbled upon- more appropriately sentient beings experimentation. He still doesn't know what the hell the Assets would be doing at a facility like this, considering their track record, he couldn't really picture them using a monster to do their work for them.

Unless was that perhaps why they were checking out that one space station with the miners? Scoping out that alien to give to their buddies here, but then it turned out to be too formidable for even them? He did recall that they would often do cross-dimensional trading for profit. He always assumed money, but as he eyes the facility they were in, he was sure that experimentation wasn't the only thing they did here at Charon Industries. So they probably traded creatures for weapons or equipment.

While he thought all of this through, the Scientist-Null brought them before a padded cell with a wide glass window that they could see through. And what was inside the cell was a small huddled teenager, curled up in the corner trembling. It looked up as if it could sense them before its eyes widened and turned back towards the wall, hands snaking up to tug on its hair. The poor thing was emaciated, and its skin was cracked by its hands and feet.

"This is our resident dryad, Matthews," the woman cheerfully told him. "Of course, it's not so apparent since we removed all dirt and plants from its environment. It can't get any roots to settle in amongst the padding."

Simmons was starting to turn green at the sight, and Grif figured that he wouldn't be able to take much more this. Plus, the Scientist-Null was starting to piss him off, just because she assumed they were into the same sick shit that she was into.

"Look, lady, this is  _ fascinating _ and all," he had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes and sneering. "But we didn't come here for this shit."

Finally, the joy slipped off the woman's face and she seemed confused as if she just couldn't comprehend why someone  _ wouldn't _ want to peruse their human rights violations facility. But then a look of understanding blossomed on her face, and Grif didn't want to know where her mind jumped to.

"Oh, yes of course! My apologies, I must have completely misinterpreted what Gates and Ortez meant!" she lightly tapped the bottom of her palm against her forehead. "Yes, now that I'm looking closely at you two, I understand much better now."

Oh no. This was a serious misstep.

The Scientist-Null approached Simmons and gave him an appraising look, fingers twitching towards his cybernetics. Then she opened her mouth and spoke, "We haven't had a chance to experiment on a cyborg quite yet, tell me, are you interested in turning yourself into an arcade cabinet? Getting rid of everything and turning into a mainframe? Never mind, we can decide as we go forward!"

Frightened at her fascination, Simmons brought his neutralizer between her and him, and that didn't so much as dissuade her intense focus as redirect towards  _ Grif that bastard- _

"And you! I need to know what's making that humming noise," she started to approach him. "Is there a bird for your heart? Are you all machine too- just internal? Oh, I'd love to have you under my scalpel, but you two need to fill out the consenting forms! We've never had volunteers before-"

Grif didn't even let her finish that before he decked her in the face and watched her drop. Considering that she didn't seem phased at their weapons, he thought the best way to get a drop on her would be to do that. The Scientist-Null certainly seemed phased at the audacity, her dirty-blond hair swept up in strands across her face as she looked up at him from her position on the floor.

A trickle of blood streamed down the corner of her mouth, but she barely noticed as she raised a hand to absentmindedly swipe it away.

"Well, it's not as though we've had uncooperative subjects before," she stated as she turned her head to the side to spit out a wet glob of blood. "No matter, I'll inform security to capture the two of you if you won't come like civilized soon-to-no-longer-be people."

Yeah, this chick was a fucking lunatic, and here Grif thought he had no care for other people. This Null took that sentiment to a whole new level.

Grif grabbed tightly onto his Captain- and while he didn't trust Simmons, he also belonged to Grif at the moment, and he couldn't get answers out of a dead man on a surgical table- and created a portal as quickly as he could manage to get them the fuck away from this place. In hindsight, that might not have been the smartest thing to do because the Scientist-Man's eyes lit up with glee at the sight, and if Grif wasn't mistaken she had called out something like,  _ "How fascinating- that makes me only want you on my dissection table even more." _

The portal spat them back out where they started, near the Ito Holes.

Grif pointed at them to a still shell-shocked Simmons and announced, "I'd rather deal with  _ this _ shit than let that woman put her filthy hands on me."

That snapped Simmons out of his shock as he shrieked, "What if they made those?!"

That caused Grif to pause and look at the mountain then look back out at the forest where he knew the lake was just beyond, then back at the mountain, then the forest-

"You can't tell me you're actually trying to decide which is worse!" Simmons mewled out, hiding his face in his hands. He might as well have clicked his heels with how much he was spouted out energy that screamed,  _ 'I want to go home, I do I do.' _

"Let's just-" Grif was cut off by the sound of growling. As if the situation couldn't get any worse, they just had to turn towards the woods to see a pack of wolves stalk towards them. There was a strange device attached to their heads, and that was when Grif genuinely considered giving up like Simmons so desperately wanted to do. But this also spurred his need to make the Assets pay for putting them through his shit, so he reached out for Simmons to portal back towards the lake.

He could keep this up for however long it took for twenty-four hours to pass. At least if they covered new ground beyond the lake he could have a bigger span of places to shuffle to.

But it would drain him. Steadily the more they had to run. And he just knew they were going to be running the whole time when a loud siren sounded out in the woods and they saw a distant giant stalking towards their general position.

For now, he would run while imagining the Assets dead by literally  _ anything’s _ hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the things I referenced were: Junji Ito's work _The Enigma of Amigara Fault_ , then next were the Aswang (Tiktik) which is a Philippine folklore monster introduced to me by my stepmother when I was younger because, from what I remember, her family owned land where the aswang were seen, then, of course, there's Matthews as a dryad, Polybius was what the scientist (FILSS for those curious) wanted to turn Simmons into, those were some random wolves but feel free to believe they were weaponized werewolves and lastly a small reference to Siren Head at the end.
> 
> Originally in the facility, I was gonna focus more on the human experimentation aspect by revealing they were doing inhuman experiments (forcing a child to be a cannibal, etc.) but it didn't fit the theme of the Junji Ito reference so I went for the full supernatural. Also, I was listening to Spirit Phone by Lemon Demon throughout this if anyone wants to know the exact vibe I was writing to, my favorite song is Touch-Tone Telephone because I'm basic I'm sorry.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	16. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Forced to Beg** | Hallucinations | **Shoot the Hostage**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaat? Me? _Not_ doing hallucinations as the daily prompt? I know it's so out of character for me, but I thought I would try out the other prompts since they fit much better.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; forced to beg, shoot the hostage_

Grif's spine aches. That's the only thing he can think about at the moment- the heavy way that the exoskeleton sits against his back. It burns a little bit too, where the metal meets his skin. The stinging sensation helps to distract the steady pounding against his temples, as he brings a hand against it trying to chase after the cool sensation as best he can.

He, in all his years at DIME, has  _ never _ had to make that many portals in quick succession in the span of one day. Now he feels flushed and a bit dizzy. Not that it wasn't necessary to keep portaling, it seemed like the two SEO's couldn't catch a single break from any of the creatures they had encountered in the previous dimension. They had about a few minutes after exiting a portal before the chase started back up again, and they used that time to make it just a little further in the woods so that they could have more options to go to when they shuffled away.

Neither of them had a single clue as to where the Assets were during all this, as Grif was sure that not even  _ they _ could take up half of these things. He bet that they were still in the facility and hadn't actually left it unlike what the Scientist-Null said, they didn't have a chance to check for residue trails when they were too busy trying to not get ripped to shreds by a demonic three-headed creature.

When Grif says that he's so happy that the Assets didn't decide to stick around just to fuck with them, he fucking means it. Simmons and he gladly left that dimension behind in favor of the new one, but now that the adrenaline was starting to leave his system, the weight of all that hopping was starting to get to Grif.

He swayed slightly where he stood, staring out with blurry eyes at the environment, only distantly recognizing that they were right outside a closed and fancy looking theatre. He almost toppled over entirely if it wasn't for Simmons reaching out and grabbing his arm.

"Wash recommended that we don't chase after the Assets this time around," the Captain informed him, worry consuming his gaze. "We deserve this small break at the very least. You're not looking too hot."

A break sounded nice. Especially if it meant he could pass out for a couple of hours. It's been a very long time since he's gotten a full night’s rest. Or better yet, they could actually have a somewhat nice meal for once- and by nice, he means anything that wasn't an energy bar or ration.

Looking around, Simmons set his eyes on the closed doors to the theatre, before sighing and pulling Grif along slightly, saying, "Come on, we can rest in here."

Simmons was being caring towards Grif's well-being again. Dragging Grif forward so that he wouldn't tip over and embarrass the two of them, sympathy lining his voice. He couldn't genuinely believe that Simmons would still want to help him like this, considering that Grif had been giving him the cold shoulder for a while now.

Letting go of his arm to give the doors an experimental shake, Simmons tsked at hearing them rattle, before shifting his the fingers on his left hand into lock picks. He pulled them off so that he could work on getting them inside. It didn't take too long before the doors were creaking open, and a small breeze of cold air filtered out the somewhat muggy night.

"There we go," Simmons quirked his lips in a satisfied smile, turning back to share it with Grif. "If we're lucky they'll have those nice plush seats."

Yeah, cushioned seats sounded really nice right about now.

Grif didn't need Simmons' assistance getting inside of the closed theatre, and without the lights on it was hard to appreciate the high and decorated ceiling or the chandelier that surely glittered in the light. They walked cautiously, although Simmons said that there were currently no other people in the theatre except for them. Climbing up the stairs did make Grif's back throb, but he only grimaced and repeated in his head that it wouldn't be too much longer before he could sit down finally.

Considering that they weren't paying customers, they decided to go for the most secluded seats possible high up in the balcony section. The view was nice enough, considering that they weren't there to watch anything and the whole place was pitch black except for the light that emitted from Simmons' HUD.

Grif gladly walked right up to the seat and settled down in it, resting his back as carefully as possible, sighing in relief as the tension drained from his body and the muscles that were wound so tightly relaxed. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, expecting to just have them closed for a minute and nothing more.

Which wasn't the case when he woke up hours later, Simmons sitting in the seat beside him, playing with something in his hands as a bag of fast food sat on the ground next to his feet. Groaning, Grif sat up and lightly stretched, already feeling the lack of soreness against his spine. Simmons looked up from what was in his hands at the noise he was making.

"Oh! You're up," Simmons reached down and picked up the bag as he held it out to Grif. "Here- I figured we were due for some fast food by now."

Grif gratefully took the bag and reached in to grab at the wrapped burger. Unfurling the paper, his mouth watered at the sight of something greasy, fast, and cheap and he took a small bite, wanting to savor it. He worked his way through the burger as he watched Simmons return to the object.

Gesturing lightly with the burger, and swallowing the bite in his mouth, Grif asked, "What's that?"

"It's a Sudoku cube," Simmons shrugged. "I picked it up on the way back from getting the food- you have a little bit of ketchup on your cheek, by the way- and figured it could be a good way to pass the time for now."

Grif reached into the bag and pulled out a napkin to wipe away the condiment, and he finished his burger in two more bites, scrunching up the wrapper into a small ball to throw it back into the bag. It certainly wasn't filing, but fuck it was the best thing that he's eaten in however many dimensions so far.

"Why would you waste your money on that," Grif asked, not saying thanks for the food.

Simmons fiddled with the cube some more, before answering, "I don't know, I don't think it was too much of a waste, it was only a couple of dollars."

Their ID Cards also acted as multiversal debit cards, and would automatically translate however much money into the currency of the region, dimension, whatever that they were in. Which was useful for long missions like this one as the two of them had found out. Before they hadn't used it much for anything beyond the small trips to the city neighboring the DIME Corps.

The Pilot chose to let the issue go, considering it would be a ridiculous thing to gripe and bitch about, and instead went back to enjoying the seat he was on. Fuck, he felt like he could just slip right back asleep that very moment, but he wouldn't. Considering that they had the whole day to themselves, it would fucking suck if he spent all of it unconscious. The nap he just had would have to do for now to satisfy his desire to fall asleep and just never wake back up, whether from a coma or death. That's been his opinion about sleep for a while now, but being worked down to the bone was starting to get him to reconsider his previous stance. 

"So," he started dumbly, closing his mouth and not opening it again because he really didn't know where to go from there.

Simmons cringed slightly, but the word, "So," passed out of his mouth too, so it seemed like they were two peas in the pod.

At one point, Simmons got up and left the balcony area for a long while, before coming back with two Styrofoam cups that had steam wafting out of it. Grif instantly perked up at the sight, and greedily gestured for one of them and let out a pleased hum when it was passed into his hands.

It was just the right amount of hot to seep through his gloves and warm his hands, and as he brought the cup up to his lips, he smelt the fusion of herbs grace his nose. Blowing slightly, he took a tentative sip and let out a pleased grunt at the taste of black tea.

"Figured we could both use a pick me up," Simmons explained, taking a small sip from his own cup. "There was no coffee so I thought black tea could work just as good."

Silently, Grif agreed. He was neutral on which was better- coffee or tea- but in regards to both, he enjoyed it mostly bitter with only the smallest pinch of sugar to sweeten it.

They sat and drank their tea in silence, and Grif contemplated Simmons once more. The man was starting to act  _ too _ nice in his opinion, and that made Grif suspicious. It could be that the Captain was taking his time now to sweeten Grif up before broaching the issue of jumping ship while they still could. And considering the previous dimension, they went through, it wouldn't surprise Grif if that was what spooked him into trying again. Hell, Grif had to admit that what they experienced just before was hellish, more so on himself than Simmons obviously since he was the one overexerting himself. 

If so, then Simmons was way more manipulative and cunning than he thought. But, two could play at that game, and Grif didn't have to rely on actions to start planting seeds.

"You know, I feel like I can tell you anything," Grif made his voice soft, staring down towards the stage and imagining the two of them on it instead. "There's not many people I can just... let in like that."

Simmons' eyes lit up in hope, and his features melted when looking at Grif. "That's- I feel the same way."

Obviously not considering he still hasn't spilled that secret yet. But Grif couldn't accuse him of that without the consequence of reneging all of the work he's put into trying to 'repair' their relationship.

"Yeah..." he trailed off, observing the other man's reaction over the brim of his cup that he let rest against his lips.

Conflict, that's the emotion that had replaced the one of fondness on Simmons' face. Good, that must mean he's still at war with telling him or not. He's sure that a little more prodding and-

A loud slam echoed throughout the closed theatre and the conversation was immediately dropped in favor of alertness. Because of course-  _ of course, _ the one day that they could have a moment to themselves it got interrupted by some sort of inter-dimension bullshit.

A man in a fox mask dragged a woman back as he trapped her in the crook of his arm, a gun neatly pointed against her skull.

"That's right, nice and slow," the Masked-Null cackled, as a sob wracked through the woman's trembling body. Her legs shook as she slipped trying to keep up with the man dragging her back. "Wouldn't want to make any sudden moves now, would we?"

Grif didn't recognize the voice of the masked man, but the woman's sounded vaguely familiar. But when trying to wrack his brain around  _ who _ he had met thus far that sounded anything like her was that one woman back in T8's dimension. The one who kept repeating,  _ 'Marthk.' _

Simmons and he didn't make any sudden moves, although Simmons was ramrod straight as they watched on, unseen up in the balcony.

"See, now was that so hard?" the man hissed as he dug the gun further against her temple. "You just stay here with me while your husband and the police scramble on what to do with me."

Oh, the police were outside. That was cool, if slightly worrisome considering that the two SEO's  _ were _ technically trespassing. They would just have to sneak out before that happened, either through traditional evasion tactics or...

Grif would rather it wouldn't come to that. Not so long after he just started to regain his energy and give his body a moment to heal.

In an exceedingly bold and stupid move, the woman spoke up, "Mark, please-"

"Quiet," he snapped. The mask obscured his face, but Grif could imagine that he was sneering. Silence deafened the theatre, only broken by the shuddering sobs of the woman, before the Masked-Null spoke up again. "Beg."

"W-what?" the woman stammered, and if Grif were closer he would have seen the confused look on her face.

"Do I really need to repeat myself? Beg. Come on I want to hear it- beg for your life," the man was definitely sneering as he said that.

"Please- please don't do this."

Dragging the woman against his body, he leaned closer to her ear, as his voice carried throughout the room, "Come on Georgina, you're smart. That's not begging."

A few more sobs, before them woman started to play along, "I'm sorry, please, I'll do anything, just don't- please don't shoot me!"

"That's much better," the Masked-Null leaned away. "Keep going."

"My baby, please think about my baby," she wrapped an arm around her stomach. "You were going to be their  _ godfather." _

That was the wrong thing to have said, as Grif saw the man's body language shift into that of a viper ready to strike. The way the word,  _ "Were?" _ came out, it sounded like crushed glass and rusted nails.

The woman flinched in his hold and she quickly tried to backtrack, "That's not what I meant! I- I don't want to die, please, I'm begging you-" 

A loud shot rang out through the theatre and the woman dropped onto the floor. The masked murderer quickly ran out through one of the emergency exists just as the police barged into the theatre, rushing to the scene- unable to help the dead soon-to-have-been mother.

Grif had to restrain himself from clapping slowly because really, he wasn't expecting both a day of rest  _ and _ a show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grif doesn't recognize that the Masked-Null is actually a Temple-Null because he hasn't ever heard Temple speak, and he's only seen his dead body. So with the mask, and with a common name like Mark, he just doesn't make the connection. If he did he would have been much more freaked out since the Temple-Null would have been unknowingly violating the restraining order.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	17. I Did Not See That Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Blackmail** | **Dirty Secret** | Wrongfully Accussed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys know what time it is...
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; (mention of) blackmail, dirty secret, manipulation, honestly at this point Grif himself counts as a TW_

After leaving the theatre as quietly as possible, Grif felt much better than when they had first entered this new dimension. It had to have been the combination of finally stopping and relaxing for once, getting a nap in, and eating something that helped him regain his strength.

But where he felt so much better, Simmons had become frazzled. Seeing that hostage situation must have spooked him. And sure, it was horrible, yeah, but they didn't know either of the two people involved, and they were more voyeurs to the scene than bystanders. They couldn't have done anything if Simmons was bemoaning over their lack of action to save that woman.

They couldn't exactly stick around to see how the rest of the event would play out, since the police would undoubtedly comb over every nook and cranny of the theatre to find the murderer. It was easy to leave down a fire escape on the side of the building, dropping off into the alleyway and walking down the opposite side so that they wouldn't be seen by the police.

Technically, they didn't really have to go and do anything else. It would probably be smart to find another place to camp out at, especially one with a little more privacy. Which, honestly, sounded like a plan. They could spend money on a small hotel or whatever, Grif could take a long shower and then collapse on a real bed and get some more hours in.

"Simmons, do you think there's a hotel or something like that nearby?" he asked, having decided that that would be the best course of action.

"Hm?" Simmons shook himself out of his stupor. "Oh, well, yeah I can check. It- that probably would have been smarter to look for than just going into that theatre..."

"It was the most logical place to go to while I was dead weight," he shrugged, and they stepped out of the mouth of the alleyway onto the semi-populated street, people looking towards the other end where the cop cars were blinking their lights. Good, that would work as a good enough distraction, they wouldn't really stand out when something was brighter and more concerning.

"Right," Simmons clipped out. He fiddled with his HUD before raising a shaky finger towards the left. "There's a hotel about one and a half miles from here."

Clapping his hands together, Grif said, "Great. Let's head there now."

Their walk was mostly silent, which was fine by Grif, except when Simmons would pull out a water bottle and implore him to drink it all, since apparently, Wash had told him that he needed to keep hydrated. Grif only rolled his eyes and accepted it because he knew that Simmons would have bothered him about it for the next however long if he refused.

He did his best to finish the bottle in three swigs or so, making eye contact with the Captain as he did so, just so that the other man could clearly see that he was keeping himself hydrated. When he was finished with it, he waited until they passed by a recycling can so that he could toss it in there. He did that purely because Simmons would have thrown a fit otherwise if he littered in any dimension really.

Reaching the hotel, he hardly paid attention to its name before the two of them let the automatic doors slide open as they crossed through to head towards the receptionist’s desk.

Grif let the Captain handle getting the rooms, looking around the lobby and noting the paintings that they had put up. He had no frame of reference for whether religious paintings fit in a hotel's lobby, but he figured it must have been something that rich assholes were into, well all except for one painting. Although, it was strange to see a print of the Kiss of Judas by Giotto sitting side by side with the Death of Socrates by David. The walls were a pleasing yellow color, and the golden shine from the lights made it so that his eyes strained to pay attention to the rest of the room, and it's boring red leather seating chairs.

"Yes, we're just looking to book one room for the night," Simmons told the receptionist, who tapped away at her keyboard with her long acrylic nails. "And we might leave very early in the morning the next day, like around midnight to be exact."

"That's fine dear, just make sure to sign out with the night-receptionist," the woman said, navigating her computer before letting out a pleasant hum. "Just one room you said? Will that be with one bed or two?"

Simmons flushed, and stuttered, "T-two please."

"Of course," the woman did some more clicking before turning to Simmons and saying, "Well, we have an open twin mini-suite on the third floor if that will work for you?"

"Yes that's fine," the Captain nodded.

The receptionist told him the price and Simmons handed over his ID Card as payment and the transaction was completed. The woman handed over a thin plastic card to him and said, "Here's your key, I hope you enjoy your stay here!"

"Thanks, we will," he turned towards Grif and gestured towards the elevator, saying, "All set."

"Nice," Grif said, walking past the painting of Socrates on his way to the elevator. He pressed the up button and the two of them waited for the elevator doors to open. When they did they entered and stood stiffly side by side. Since Simmons knew where the room was, he leaned over and clicked the floor number, watching as it lit up on the control panel, and soon they started to go up, the normal increased pressure as the force of the floor pushed them up.

They reached the floor and stepped out into the long and wide hallway, colored that same light yellow. However, whereas the lobby had religious paintings, these hallways had the occasional painting of flowers. All in all, it was quaint, and also quiet as the two of them stalked towards their room. Simmons stopped in front of a door with the number 317 on it and swiped the plastic card through the card reader to unlock the door.

Once they were inside, Grif slightly shivered at the cold room temperature and upon hearing the hum of an air conditioner he knew that he would just have to live with it. He made a beeline towards the bathroom, throwing over his shoulder, "Dibs."

As soon as he got inside, he threw off his uniform and looked through the cabinets to find the towels provided by the hotel. As he was shuffling and pulling out a bath towel, Simmons knocked on the door and said, "Grif, if you want me to clean your uniform while you shower you can just slide it outside the door."

He grunted in acknowledgment, closing the cabinet doors and doing exactly that, opening the door a crack as he dropped all the different components to his uniform on the other side. Closing the door with the heel of his foot, he cautiously locked it. Going back towards the sink area, he searched for a bar of soap and some complimentary shampoo, grabbing it and setting down the towel against the sink countertop, before pausing and going back for a small rag as well.

Heading towards the shower, he turned the knob for the hot water almost towards the highest setting. Watching as it started to stream out of the showerhead, he waited a bit before testing the temperature under his hand, nodding as it only lightly stung his fingers. 

He stepped in without any fanfare, and let out a small groan of satisfaction as the hot water cascaded down his back. Taking the bar of soap, he lightly lathered it against a bath rag. Before DIME, he would have just used the bar as is, but after the surgery, it wasn't a good idea. The rag would ensure that he properly cleaned the areas of skin that met the metal of his exoskeleton, and sure the area was particularly sore when using a somewhat scratchy rag, but he'd rather that momentary pain than the risk of catching an infection. He wouldn't have to worry about the exoskeleton rusting, as it ran hot enough to evaporate any water that lingered on top of it.

Moving as methodically as possible, he cleaned his body, taking care to wash off all of the suds before moving onto his hair. In a dreadfully ironic way, the memory of his mother telling him to only apply a small amount of shampoo and body-wash so as to conserve the bottle for as long as possible pops into his mind. Always squeeze out enough to match the size of a dime, she would tell him.

In spite, he makes sure to use enough to fit the size of a quarter. Using his palms to rub in the hair care product into his curled locks, he made sure his entire head was covered before switching to using the blunts of his fingernails to card through his hair and truly wash it out. 

And after everything, he just stood under the stream of water and appreciated the way the heat relaxed his muscles. Just as his fingers were starting to prune, he shut off the stream of water and stepped out of the shower and onto the plastic mat. The steam from the shower fogged up the mirror, and he heard the slight hissing from his exoskeleton as it worked on getting rid of excess water. He reached for the towel and started to dry himself off, placing the rag he had used over the towel rack. Grif couldn't do this quickly, as it could irritate his skin, so he made sure to spend time on each individual limb before moving on to the next.

Placing the now soaked towel on the rack, he passed by the now clearing up mirror. His face was obscured and his exoskeleton looked like weird scar tissue that just so happened to be shiny, the illusion only ruined by the circle centralizers interspersed the connected metal. Grif's glad that he can't make out his expression because he's sure that he wouldn't like it.

Just as he reached out to unlock and open the door, he realized that he didn't have any clothes to change into. It made him falter for only a second before he realized  _ fuck it _ and opened the door anyway. It wasn't anything that Simmons hadn't seen before in the communal showers back at DIME Corps.

But, upon opening the door it hit slightly against something soft, peeking out he saw that Simmons had placed a folded up robe for him to use. Grabbing it, he slipped it on as he walked out of the door.

Simmons didn't say anything to him, already wearing a robe too- which let Grif see just how much of the man is made out of metal, a sight that he had already seen before as well- and he passed by him to use the bathroom as well. At hearing the sound of the shower start up again, Grif shrugged and headed towards one of the beds. From behind a closed door, he could hear the sounds of a washing machine churn away as it cleaned their uniforms.

Grif played around with his communicator in the meanwhile, dicking around in the server he had made with the other Grif double. The other man brought up something confusing, and Grif resolved to ask Simmons about it when the other man came out of the shower.

The process for the cyborg had to have been more extensive than Grif's, as it took nearly thirty minutes before he was all dried off and back in the robe. Within the time where he was showering, Grif had switched over the wash to the dryer, which was now a muffled rumbling sound in the hotel room.

He waited until the other man was comfortably sitting at the table before he spoke up, "Hey, Simmons. Do you know anything about whatever the fuck a Cosmic Power is?"

Simmons raised an eyebrow and gave him an incredulous look, "A Cosmic what now?"

Pointing at his communication rod, he elaborated, "That Grif from dimension S15 is talking about these things called Cosmic Powers, some AI's made to monitor space-time or something. He asked if we worked for them or something and they didn't know what a DIME was so now he's asking me."

The comfortable sight of Simmons reaching up and pulling at his lip greeted him, "I don't think I've ever heard of them. DIME must not have an equivalent."

"Figured as much," Grif let out a harsh laugh. "Man, could you imagine? DIME actually answering to someone? They wouldn't be able to get away with half the shit they do if there were big bad Cosmic Powers ready to put them in time out."

Simmons stilled. Grif watched him eagerly, eyes devouring the sight because he could  _ feel _ the shift in the other man. The conversation from earlier  _ must _ have stuck with him. Something he said must have compelled the other man to  _ reveal his secret. _

And what was funny was that Grif wasn't even actively trying to manipulate him into revealing it right then. In fact, if Simmons cracked this easily, then Grif didn't know whether to be impressed or disappointed by how weak his will was. The Pilot didn't even need to increase over time the pressure to tell Grif, because he trusted Grif,  _ didn't you Simmons? _ Didn't need to sink his claws and teeth into the other man. Didn't even need to resort to the threat of blackmail- and Grif could have done it too, could have threatened how the other man wanted to abandon DIME and turn AWOL, becoming just another Dimensional Criminal in a long line of them. That would have ruined Simmons' standing with the organization had he proven difficult and firm in not spilling.

But thankfully it didn't have to come to that, because he was finally  _ telling him. _

"I- you deserve to know," Simmons said in a rush, as though if he didn't get the words out as soon as possible then they would never come out at all. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, I was just afraid of what your reaction would be."

Sitting up, but doing his best to exude nonchalance, Grif said, "Come on, it can't be that bad."

Licking his lips, the Captain turned away and said ominously, "But it is- it really is."

Grif watched avidly as the Captain steeled his expression, taking care to even out his breaths, and he leaned forward in his seat to watch because it was happening. He could find out what Simmons was hiding, and then he could finally cut all ties to the other man, having turned all remaining stones. And based on whatever it was that he was hiding, Grif could still throw the other man under the bus that was DIME if he so desired. But that could wait until after he knew.

But whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't the words that fell from Simmons' mouth.

Unaware of what landmine he had just stepped on, Simmons told him with as straight a face as ever, "DIME has tampered with our memories."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's chapter is a lot of fun. Especially considering that it's the penultimate chapter to the Universal Punishment Arc! Also, the paintings pointed out are important to the rest of the fic, Chekov's gun baby!
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing!)


	18. Panic! At the Disco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic Attacks | **Phobias** | **Paranoia**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was literally so excited to write this chapter, this has been the moment I've been waiting for this entire month! Also, if anyone wants a general vibe for this chapter, it's Redesign Your Logo by Lemon Demon.
> 
> For the duration of this month, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; phobias, paranoia, disordered thinking, violence, Grif_

Neither of them says anything for the longest time, and what inevitably ends up shattering the silence is the sound of the dryer beeping. At first, they don't break eye contact, but Simmons swallowed nervously and looked towards the machine as he said, "We- we should probably change first, before continuing, because this would be, um, uncomfortable otherwise."

Grif stays seated watching as Simmons pulls the uniforms out of the dryer and folds them into two different piles, growing his own before darting to the bathroom. Hiding from him.

Mechanically grabbing his own uniform, he pulls it on in quick movements, snapping the buttons on his dress shirt and throwing on his overcoat. When he slips on his gloves, he takes a second to stare at his hands, watching his clothed fingers flex and unflex. Then he brings up his right hand to the base of his neck, where he remembers the doctor making the incision to insert the pin. He's lucky that his gloves are on because he digs his fingers painfully into the skin and he knows that his nails would have broken through.

What Simmons has told him, that had to be a bold face lie. Not because he particularly trusted DIME or anything- he was far from a loyal fanatic- but because there was no way something like that could get past  _ Grif. _ He would know if someone fucked with his memories- in fact, everything was clear to him. No gaps, no foggy, or fuzzy recollections. He can remember the way that kindergarteners face felt under the force of his knuckles, he can remember stomping on his peer's hand when she dropped her pencil near him- the sound of it hitting the ground in the otherwise empty classroom echoing through his skull in such a fervor that he  _ had _ to retaliate- and he can certainly remember the way his cheek stung when Kai threw a tantrum after mom dropped her into his arms, blaming him for that bitch's inability to parent. He can still feel the sensation even now, it was  _ real _ and he doubts that some maniacal scientists employed by an ethically questionable organization could  _ fabricate it. _

The Captain was lying to him. He had to be, this was his underhanded way to manipulate  _ Grif. _ Acting nice, pretending to care about his health- that was everything Grif was doing to Simmons. Except the other man was much better at it than Grif was, the Pilot hadn't even realized what he was doing until now. And the burns, the idea that Simmons was beating him at his own game, that he was prepping him to trust him fully, make up some shit about the DIME, clenching tightly at the rug that was Grif's own trust in  _ himself _ and rip it out from under him so that he would collapse onto the ground. Then he would offer his hand, and this must have been what he was working up to, say that they could just  _ run, get your own life back Grif _ and he expected Grif to just accept his hand.

This would not do. This would not do at all.

Simmons must have been a master manipulator, building up to this the entire goddamn time. How long had he been plotting against DIME- against Grif? From the very beginning? It was possible, he already knew that on some instinctual level that Simmons was already capable of becoming a mirror and kissing up to the people that he wanted something from- and boy did that slap him in the face, realizing that what everyone had blown off as kissassing was actually him testing his ability to orchestrate people's perception of him. Simmons wouldn't betray the DIME Corps, he was too weak- having to kiss the boots of his superiors just to stay afloat- that's what all of them thought. But now Grif could see, could see how Simmons had mastered controlling people by being neither honest nor dishonest, something Grif actively went against with his own machinations. It was a race and Simmons had won.

Except it wouldn't work- Grif couldn't allow it to work.

Simmons came back, worrying his hands as he acted nervously.

Grif had to play this cool, even though everything was screaming at him to reveal that he knew about Simmons' plans,  _ he couldn't fool him, _ saying, "That's a pretty big accusation you know. What proof do you have?"

Simmons let out a shaky breath, before lifting up the sleeve of his left arm, displaying his cybernetic arm. He turned it to show him the engraving on the crook of his elbow. He didn't look at Grif as he said, "Back in my own dimension, I got into a car accident. I lost my arm and soon lost control of my life. My father promised me that he could fix everything, but all he wanted to do was turn me into his own personal pet project."

Grif approached slowly, a predator stalking its prey, getting close enough to read the engraving.

_ Property of Victor Simmons. DD: M17. _

DD. Dimensional designation: M17.

Grif held his tongue, waiting to see what Simmons would say next.

"My father was also on his way to becoming a Dimensional Criminal," Simmons spat out bitterly. "I didn't notice this until we started conditioning. This was my dimension's designation. When they implanted the pins, I didn't notice anything at first, didn't even question when they made us fill out our ID Cards. My programming, it prevents my memories from being changed- I suppose it was insurance my father gave me. It took me much longer to realize that no one else remembered their original dimensions. I didn't say anything, because then DIME would realize that I still remembered."

"This doesn't prove anything, how do I know that you didn't write that on yourself," Grif pointed out, holding back any and all emotion from his voice.

"Please, you have to trust me on this," Simmons pleaded. "I don't know how to prove it to you-"

"All of my memories are perfectly intact," Grif cut him off, his heart pounding at hearing his excuse being 'trust me'- Simmons was playing into his part too much, not realizing when to throw in the towel. This claim was outlandish, if it were Grif trying to spin this lie, he would back off the second the other person started to show resistance.

"Are they?" the Captain questioned. "Tell me, what was the name of your childhood elementary school?"

He went to open his mouth and snap out his answer when he realized  _ he didn't know. _ He could remember everything that happened during his time at the school- the names of his teachers, other kids who stood out in his memories, every cruel action he took.

But he couldn't remember the actual name.

"Lot's of people don't remember things from their childhood," Grif countered, despite the surety he just had moments ago about the clarity of his memories.

"Then the city where you grew up," the other man had a second question prepped and ready to go. And just like before Grif couldn't answer, he could picture the house that he and his sister lived in, he could remember the neighborhood, but no names. When he tried to force his brain to remember, all he got was blanks.

His fingers twitched.

"You can't, can you?" Simmons asked, what sounded like disgusting  _ pity _ in his voice. "I can remember the city where I grew up, I can remember the name of the streets and everything else. But no one else at DIME can. They just say  _ ‘our dimension’ _ and yet there's not much to that universe beyond the cities that lie beyond the DIME Corps. With how many people employed under DIME, we would have at least seen each other once. But no one's memories line up like that, do they?"

Shocking even himself, he took a tentative step back, feeling his heart pound away in his chest. Simmons had to be a liar, there was no way this was possible. Grif would have noticed these obvious gaps in his memory before, he  _ would have- _

But if Simmons was right then that meant-

His hand has latched onto the back of his own neck before he can stop himself, and his clothed fingertips scratch furiously away at the area where the pin would be. The pin that was inserted into him, that was lied about it's actual purpose to him so that he would fall into their trap and play right into their hands, Grif's body was violated he hadn't minded the Pilot surgery, they were honest about that but  _ this-! _

"Grif?!" Simmons looked worried- fake worry, it had to be fake worry, he was out to get him, maybe Grif had it all wrong and he was a plant,  _ testing to see if the pin would hold up- _ and stepped towards him.

Just like that day, back in fifth grade, Grif's vision goes fuzzy and black, and the next thing he knows is that he's on top of Simmons, right hand gripping tightly onto the other man's left wrist. His face is impassive and blank, applying pressure to the metal plates, fully aware that while the other man couldn't feel pain, his processor would still recognize the increase in force.

He continued to squeeze, and if Simmons were fully flesh and blood, he would no doubt be squirming in pain, but as it is, he is merely frightened at being held down, face tilted away from Grif as the rest of his limbs are being pinned down between the Pilot's legs.

Grif's eyes stray towards the hand, knowing all of the tools that it could transform into.

A doctor placed a chip into his brain, cut away at Grif both physically and mentally, leaving a scar against his neck and holes in his memories. But he didn't need a doctor to fix this, and he doubts that he would ever trust a doctor again, they could do things to him things that he doesn't want done-

"Let's say I believe you," his voice is monotone, eyes firmly on the mechanical hand. "Then, if you are telling the truth, you'll turn your hand into a scalpel and  _ cut it out." _

"What!?" the Captain blurted out. "I'm not a doctor- it's way too dangerous."

Grif let go of the hand and in a flash wrapped both of his hands firmly around Simmons' neck. He loomed over him and said, "I don't think you understand. There's something inside of me that  _ doesn't belong there. _ I want it out.  _ Now." _

The other man gasps as he loses air, and whimpers under the pain of Grif's tightly clenched fingers.

He would kill him, he would if he doesn't give in. Grif had anger bottled up for so long, and where he could usually keep a tight lid on it, he doesn't think anyone would particularly miss Simmons.

The Captain should give in,  _ why wasn't he giving in- _

"Fine, I'll do it myself," Grif let go of the man's neck, not in the mood to actually go through with getting rid of the other man, and Simmons wasn't weak-willed after all. So he backed off of him to turn towards the kitchenette area.

Despite having just been choked out, Simmons jumped up and grappled him, holding him back from walking any further, exclaiming, "Grif, no- that's not the only way to find out if the pin is actually doing it, I- I can show you different evidence-"

Simmons just didn't understand on the same wavelength Grif did. He had to get the pin out- he had to find out what his real dimensional designation  _ was. _

Designations were important. They  _ define you, _ made you something more than just a forgettable speck of sand in the grand scheme of the multiverse. Prisoners were  _ stripped _ of the dimensional number, only allowed to keep the letter to distinguish them amongst the other convicts. That's why they were called  _ Locus-X _ and  _ Felix-Z, _ they decided to commit crimes against the multiverse so they were stripped of their title within it. It-

_ Grif-10. 10. _

He- it just occurred to him, with a jolt of lightening down his altered spine, that all DIME officers were  _ stripped of their dimensional letters. _ They were the inverse of Dimensional Criminals, a distorted reflection, all this time-

Grif needed to reclaim his dimensional designation, he needed to-

"We're going back to DIME Corps," Grif announced, stopping his struggle against Simmons' hold. "Prove to me that the pin accusation is true."

Make it seem like he was giving into Simmons' plan, regain the lead, take more pieces on the chessboard,  _ manipulate, shift the blame of recklessness onto Simmons- _

The Captain released Grif immediately, nodding his head rapidly, "I know where they keep the medical files, all I need to do is grab yours and it'll have your original dimensional designation there. Then you'll have no other choice but to believe me!"

No, he  _ did _ have the choice. And he was making it  _ now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phobia is a subtle one, it's the development of tomophobia (fear of invasive medical procedures) and as for the paranoia, I based it on what I experience with paranoia and how my mind works up to the idea that everyone is out to get me. An example that I experienced is this: I text three friends, asking for assistance on a photography assignment. First says no, gives no explanation as to what they are doing instead, this is fine with me. The second says they can't, they're going to a party at four. Third says they will be busy by five. Immediately my brain told me that they are all going to the same place and they're lying and avoiding telling me why they're busy. Then it works up to the idea that they hate me. It's such a pain to decatastrophisize from moments like these.
> 
> And finally, I am going to tell you guys outright which mental disorder Grif-10 has specifically. I'm writing him with Antisocial Personality Disorder in mind, essentially he is a sociopath, and I've been waiting for all of the four prominent actions taken by people with ASPD to show up in fic before explaining. Specifically, lack of empathy or care for other people, aggression, manipulating to get what they want, and taking risks without regard to how it might affect others. The first red flags that I wove in for the aggressive nature was when Grif kicked down the old dog house in chapter 2, it was a brief act of aggression that I hoped would go under the radar since it could be perceived as Grif just being an asshole that early on in the fic before showing his outright aggression in his flashback chapter and then more signs of it going forward. The lack of empathy has always been a present thing I've written him with- he is callous with Kai-T8 back in chapter 2, has a disregard (and creepy focus) for other people's death, and always separates his dimensional doubles as not being him to enable his lack of empathy towards them as well.
> 
> These past few chapters he's been outright overanalyzing his interactions with Simmons for signs that the other is manipulating him as both a justification for his own manipulation and because his lack of empathy distorts his ability to process it in others. The risk-taking aspect is finally coming into play at the end of this chapter by them deciding to abandon the dimension they're currently in, in favor of snooping around DIME- a really stupid decision, and very risky. I did this partially because I wanted to show that not every version of Grif would act the same, different dimensions and all that, and also because this month I wanted to grow as an author and took this as a challenge to see if I can change internal monologue based on the POV of the character I'm writing as. And of course, I wasn't going to romanticize or overdramatize ASPD, I tried my best to make it as grounded in reality and how disordered thinking actually affects people. I wonder how I did in regard to this?
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing).


	19. Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief | Mourning Loved One | **Survivor's Guilt**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last chapter to the Universal Punishment Arc! Tomorrow starts the first day of the last arc- Lost Hope Arc! So excited, I'm almost done with the month!
> 
> For the duration of this month, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; survivor's guilt_

"Let's go," Grif started to power up his exoskeleton, and for the first time in years, he shivers at the fact that the coordinates to the DIME universe were something he could so easily recall. He didn't have to think about it- it was instinctual, as if always at the forefront of his mind.

"Wait," Simmons lifted a shaky hand, shifting up his uniform sleeve again. He dug his fingernails under a thin plate in his arm and lifted it up, revealing strange small black cubes. He plucked the two out of his arm, and Grif could see that there were gold-tinted prods on the other side of them.

The Captain made sure Grif could see that he was lifting it to the back of his own neck and inserting it into the base. His breath hitched upon insertion, but there was no other reaction than that. Simmons hesitated with the second cube, and looked up at Grif warily, "I made these in secret, it targets the pin and hides its signal. DIME will know we're back at the facilities if we don't hide it, but... can I trust you to put this on right?"

Grif's eye twitched at the word  _ trust _ and he was still trying to ease himself down from his earlier thoughts about Simmons manipulations- and really, those cubes just count as more evidence that the Captain was a two-faced traitor the whole time- and he grit his teeth as he said, "What- you think I can't figure out how to attach it?"

Simmons stood his ground, saying, "Just a moment ago you were excoriating, I can't trust you won't use the prods to break the skin," and Grif's eyes focused on his neck, wondering how long it would take for hand-shaped bruises to appear.

"I can control myself," and really, he could. That whole tearing at his neck thing was done in a fit of unchecked fear, Grif was much calmer now. He held out his expecting hand, waiting for Simmons to drop the box into it.

The other man reluctantly handed it over and watched tense and ready to step in as he mimicked what he had done earlier and attached it to the base of his spine. He didn't flinch when the prods entered his neck, but he also waited to see if anything would happen. If he would get his memories back. Part of him expected that they would all come back in a rush, but seconds passed and he felt no different than when he was without it moments ago. But then he recalled that they only hid the pin  _ signal. _ Which meant that they were still active, and would likely stay active so long as it was inside of his body.

Thankfully, Grif was already making plans on how to remove the damn thing. His skin would stop trying to claw its way off of his body when that stupid thing was finally gone.

Simmons let out a haltering breath and then nodded to himself, "Ok, ok, yeah. We can go now."

Without wasting another second, Grif summoned a portal in record time, and let Simmons go through it first. Then he followed after and released the portal, not wanting to draw any attention to their entry of the DIME Corps.

Grif had made sure that their exit spot was inside of a storage closet in the main facilities. It wasn't one that was typically locked and it was closest to the medical wing. Neither men said anything, waiting silently as they strained their ears to pick up any sounds outside the closest. Nothing. The coast was clear.

Placing his hand on the doorknob, he took great care to slowly turn the knob, waiting for the lock to click before lifting it up and pushing it forward. He only opened it a crack, leaning close to peer out into the hallway, looking for shadows or approaching figures. Still nothing, which was unusual for this area of the building.

Not one for looking a gift horse in the mouth, he opened the door further and stepped out into the hallway. He didn't worry about CCTV footage or anyone stationed at the cameras, because with how many DEO's and SEO's that wandered these halls, they relied on tracking individual pins to see who went where. All the cameras would do is pick up on any individual that wasn't wearing a DIME uniform.

And even then, somehow Locus-X and Felix-Z got around these measures against intruders, and Grif was willing to bet that whatever they did was probably still affecting the system. Which meant that their lack of pin signal wouldn't set off anything. And he's inclined to believe that this is what's happening when both he and Simmons were out in the open hallway and they weren't stormed by DEO's.

Despite this, Simmons was flighty as all hell, and he hurried the two of them towards the medical wing. On their way there, they passed by the area where Doc mainly worked, and they actually had to pause at the string of officers who were exiting out of it.

"What are they doing," Grif muttered under his breath, watching as they walked down the hallway, completely missing the two of them as they continued on their way.

Simmons racked his brain, before hesitatingly activating his HUD and accessing his messages. Then he paled.

"Carolina told me that the was an order for a mandatory check-up on the state of the pins," Simmons whispered to him.

Suspicion filled Grif, so he slipped out his own communicator and checked his own messages. Oh. He had a similar message from Carolina. So the Captain wasn't lying to further incite hysteria about the dubious nature of the pins.

"They must be checking to see if everyone's memories are still repressed," Simmons chewed thoughtfully on his lip. "We- we need to hurry up- get what we need and get out before they can drag me and you to that check-up. They'll know that I know and that  _ you _ know now too."

"Then keep moving forward," Grif hissed, gloved hand bumping into the cube against the back of his neck and making his hand back off.

"Right," Simmons said and then continued his march forward.

Nobody stopped them, and it paid to be a low-ranking SEO, it made them practically invisible to anyone in the main branch of DIME. Eventually, they stopped in front of the archival room where all of the medical files were kept. Simmons tested the door first, and when it wouldn't budge under his grip, he quickly brought out his lock pick tools from his left hand. Despite wielding them with shaky hands, the Captain still managed to get them inside of the room.

Closing the door behind them, they didn't turn the light on so as to not attract attention to their presence in the room. Luckily, all of the files were kept safe by electronic padlocks, illuminating the room in soft, ice-blue light. 

Grif had never been in this room before- never had the need too really- so while he was the chance he glances at each cabinet, taking note of the way that they organized all of the files. Likely to hid their original designations in case anyone wandered in, the cabinets were separated by rank, branch, and lastly alphabetical. The two of them headed straight towards  _ Pilot, SEO, G, _ and Simmons sifted his pointer finger into an adapter and he inserted it into the bottom of the padlock. The screen glitches out once before showing the passcode and clicking open. Removing his finger, Simmons gripped the handle to the cabinet drawer and pulled it out.

There was about fifteen, maybe a little less, medical files stored in it. Grif let his fingers dance above the files, flicking through them looking for his name. The second he saw it, he swooped up the heavy and thick file and turned away from Simmons. He didn't trust the other man with something as personal and important as his real dimensional designation.

In the file, there were countless reports taken from his dimension, along with the new ones made during his time employed by DIME. He skipped those, not particularly caring for what they had to say about his health, and searched for a sheet that would have his original designation on it.

A minute had passed, and Grif was starting to get truly pissed off. So far, there was nothing to back Simmons' claim about the pin, and Grif kept building up evidence of Simmons' pulling at his strings, gaslighting him into believing that he couldn't remember things about his original dimension, he was probably doing this to elevate his position, if Grif turned around he would see the other man alerting DIME about how Grif was breaking and entering to steal sensitive informat-

_ Dexter Grif, DD: U15. _

Oh.  _ Oh. _

It's like a wave of calm washed over him, and all the anger he was feeling at Simmons faded away. Nothing was important except for repeating his designation over and over again in his head. Just like the black cube, learning this didn't bring back all of his memories- somehow breaking through the influence of the pin. It was just a letter and a number, but it was his and somehow it slotted into place in a way he couldn't describe without the unaltered memories to back it up. He couldn't trust himself to remember this, he would have to keep the file with him when they left-

Simmons had proven that he wasn't a liar. And he probably wasn't a manipulator either. So what the fuck would they do now.

"So, what now," he leaves his voice empty of all emotion because as far as he's aware, he no longer has a reason to keep Simmons at arms reach. In fact, the other man was probably trying to help Grif this whole time by convincing him to get away from DIME while they had the chance.

"We can finally leave DIME behind," Simmons said, voice confident. "We don't owe them shit, we can even-"

A door opened, and the two of them ducked behind the massive cabinets. Except, from their vantage point, the door to the room hadn't opened so where-

A man in a lab coat strode forward, heading towards the exit, sighing and muttering under his breath, "How tedious... if it weren't for these check-up's those defectives might have slipped right under our noses."

_ Two _ doors closed when the man left.

Grif was both curious and spooked at the sudden appearance of whoever the fuck that was- the Pilot had certainly never seen him before today. But despite his gut screaming to leave and never look back, he stepped out from behind the cabinet to look at the room with new eyes. Keeping his gaze down towards the ground, he looked for any sort of aberration- 

There were scuff marks on the floor beside an open space of the wall. Slowly moving towards it, he prepared for other people to appear but none did. Instead, he reached the wall and lightly pushed on it, which caused it to move back and click. Then, it slid open, little to no sound being made, and cold air assaulted his face.

The room that was revealed was dark except for a purple overhead light. Simmons fell into step behind Grif and they both walked into the room, not at all afraid to uncover whatever fresh hell DIME had been hiding.

The layout of the room was strange, mostly comprised of scaffolding that provided access to the rows upon rows of handles that went further down as the room was built deep into the ground. And it's when Grif approaches the first handle and pulls does the realization of what  _ exactly _ this room was.

Staring at the cadaver of what looked to be the remains of Hammer, Grif registered that they were standing in the bowels of DIME's morgue.

He never really questioned where the bodies went after they died. The pin made him believe that they would get sent back to their loved ones, and perhaps if they never investigated this room he would have gone on to believe that, but really. Why would DIME return a body to a dimension they had ostracized its denizen from?

"Oh god," Simmons sounded as if he was going to throw up.

Grif turned to him because really, he didn't understand why seeing Hammer's corpse would elicit such a reaction. Perhaps he was biased since he had already  _ seen _ the other Pilot's corpse back on that space station.

But he saw that Simmons  _ wasn't _ looking at Hammer's grotesque remains, and instead was staring down the winding room that just kept going and going, housing various DIME corpses. The look in his eyes was distant, and he had a hand pressed firmly against his mouth, to hold back the bile that wanted to slip past his mouth.

The other man swallowed harshly once, then twice for good measure, before he dragged the hand down slowly, allowing his voice to be heard as he said, "That man, he said- he said defectives and pins and-  _ I could have been in one of these if the Assets never escaped." _

Oh. That's what he was upset about. Grif couldn't quite understand why that would affect him in such a manner- obviously, he wasn't found out, and if he's made it this long without getting caught, why would one recent check-up make all that big of a difference?

"I- this isn't fair," Simmons whimpered, nervously pulling at his lip. "Why- why does it matter if we remember our original dimension or not? Why does it mean we have to die?"

In all fairness, it was a good question. One that Grif wanted an answer to himself. There was nothing left for him based on his memories, he doesn't feel loyalty to that dimension at all. But maybe that was the point, DIME didn't want its agents succumbing to homesickness or running away back to their original dimension. Dimension's favored its denizens, the residue of the original could easily overpower the one that DIME was attempting to cover its agents in like oil.

And they couldn't let people run away with extensive knowledge of how the DIME Corps was run, so, to make sure that all information was controlled, they had to kill them. No running away and selling the information to other Dimensional Criminals. Snitches get left in ditches. Or a dark and secluded morgue, he supposes.

Knowing about the pin now, everything made sense to Grif now. He had the power to travel through dimensions easily and he never ran away. Because he thought that the DIME could catch up to him if he did- that they would track him down, and he would be killed for treason. But he did have somewhere to run to- all he would have to do was go back to U15 and wait for his residue to realign, then he could go under the radar of DIME. He would have to remove the pin first, of course.

Looking back at Simmons, he realizes that that plan wouldn't exactly work for the other man. It would take far longer for his dimension's residue to coat the other man, and he didn't know if he had that long to wait. The Captain was a liability.

But he couldn't let him know that, so instead he placed a firm hand against the other man's shoulder and said, "We should return back to the dimension that Locus-X and Felix-Z were in, so that DIME doesn't realize something is up. But when they leave, we don't follow. We wait, pretend like they've decided to stick around, and then we can make our escape."

The Captain nodded his head, saying, "Right. Right, that's smart."

And they quickly left without a trace of them returning to DIME. The only evidence being the missing medical file, but with the number of officers getting check-ups, it would be passed off as a misplaced file.

When in reality it was sitting on top of the table in the hotel that the two of them paid for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grif just leaving out that file as if a certain someone isn't going to look, shame on him.
> 
> You know, just the other day I was laughing about how, in my original graphic novel premise, I made DIME out to be benevolent and only intervening when necessary. But then I decided that here, DIME was going to be as corrupt as all hell. To be fair, it is Whumptober, if I had them be a goody-two-shoes organization there'd be a lot less tension and more repetition I should think.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	20. Toto, I Have a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Lost** | Field Medicine | Medieval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of a headache earlier so I made sure to get this chapter done earlier in the day so that I could go to sleep earlier than I have been this past month. But wow, there are only eleven days left to go! It sure doesn't feel like it!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; lost, discussion of mental disorders_

The first thing that they did upon returning to the previous dimension was to go back down to the receptionist and extend their stay at the hotel by two more days. The woman was accommodating, and they were on their way back up to the room. Next up on their list of shit to do, was go out and buy an alternative outfit, because walking around with the DIME uniform going forward would be risky. They wouldn't throw it away as it could help them blend in if need be, but if they were planning on sticking around in another dimension, it would draw attention to them.

The dress shirts could stay, and Grif opted to keep his gloves too. But the uniform pants, boots, and overcoat had to go. So the pair of them went out and bought loose-fitting jeans, hiking boots, and ties just for the sole purpose of neatening up the ensemble. Additionally, Grif got a dark charcoal grey trench coat and Simmons a dark blue cardigan. The only reason they got them was so that they could keep their neutralizers on hand at all times, hidden behind the folds of the coats. There wasn't much to be done for Simmons' cybernetics, but at least the circular metal plate near his ear that brought up his visor could be passed off by simply adjusting some of his hair in front of it.

After, they pulled out money from both of their ID Cards in small increments every hour or so. There was no telling  _ when _ DIME would figure out that they went AWOL, but as soon as they did, their ID Cards would be rendered useless and their accounts would be frozen. Plus, Grif was excited about the prospect of destroying the card as soon as they could- officially getting rid of  _ SEO Grif-10 _ and going back to being just Grif-U15.

Beyond that, there was nothing more they could do. Now that they weren't chasing the Assets, it felt like the possibilities of what they could do was stifled. And even though Grif really had wanted to play  _ some _ part in their capture- he still held a burning loathing for the two men- he knew that this was probably for the best, realistically he knew that he could never have done much to stop them. Their experiences so far had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Plus, with them still evading capture DIME would be focusing all their attention on chasing those two down, inadvertently helping Grif and Simmons with their own escape.

But, that just left the two of them lounging around waiting for the moment when it would be best to move on to the next dimension. In Grif's plans, he would ditch Simmons at some random dimension, and then return back to his own. From there, who knows. Maybe he should get a job, definitely not return back to his old one. Considering that he couldn't remember what city his previous apartment was in, that wasn't even an option anyhow. He'd also need to go by a new name, not that it would do much if DIME had a hard-on for tracking him down- which he doubted with the shit going on at DIME. Maybe he'd go with Kaikane, that sounded like a good name for an alias.

With all this time on his hands, he figured that he could work on editing his communication rod. Did he particularly need this tool? No, not really. And neither of them could outright delete their DIME accounts without drawing attention. So what could he do to get around that...

He hears shuffling sounds and ignores it since it doesn't really concern him. What with how he and Simmons were going to part ways very soon.

"Oh," Simmons’ voice is soft.  _ "Oh." _

Looking up from the communicator, he regaled Simmons with a dull look, "What?"

The Captain was sifting through Grif's medical files, and when he realized that he immediately abandoned the rod, to snatch the file out of his hands. Too many people had gotten involved with Grif's medical history, he wouldn't let this asshole be another one.

But Simmons pulled it out of his reach and pulled out a page from the profile the DIME agent who interviewed him so long ago made. "Why didn't you tell me you had ASPD?"

"That I had- what?" Grif gave him a confused look. And not a sardonic one either. A  _ genuine _ one. Because-  _ what? _

"ASPD," Simmons told him flatly. "Antisocial Personality Disorder."

"You explaining what the acronym stands for doesn't make me understand what that means any further," Grif spat out.

"Oh my- why didn't you tell me that you were a sociopath?!" Simmons exploded. "Because- that explains every question I ever had about you, and what I thought were your personality 'quirks' and just apathetic nature. But if I knew you had ASPD I could have helped you out more, because- look, DIME even made a note that it's been untreated so far."

Grif wants to say that he wasn't a sociopath, that he didn't have AS- whatever. But, if that was true, it would explain so many things. However, the report came from DIME, and could they really trust them when they say something like that.

Some strange and unidentified emotion shows up on Simmons’ face, and he lowers the page, "You didn't know?"

"No," Grif rolled his eyes. "Why would I even have to suspect that I had a mental disorder?"

"Because you're an asshole! And you don't care about other people, and you get aggressive, and you're manipulative- don't think I haven't noticed any of it! I ignored it in the past because I thought you were just a fucking jerk, but if you choking me was any indicator that something was wrong with you then this is just proof of it!" Simmons slams the medical file onto the tabletop.

"Why are you getting mad at me?" Grif glares at Simmons. "If what you're saying is true, then it's not-"

"Just because you have ASPD doesn't excuse your shitty actions," the Captain smacks his hand down on the top, shocking Grif who jolts backward. "What it  _ means _ is that you need to go to fucking therapy."

"I don't need therapy," he denies, and he can't even bring any sort of heat into his voice because he's too shocked at the way Simmons is reacting. 

"Yes, you do. Step outside of yourself and into literally anyone else's shoes and you'd understand that how you act and the things you do aren't ok!" Simmons' hand rests against his throat where bruises were now finally visible. "Cognitive-behavioral therapy. That should be the first thing we do when we move on to the next dimension."

"We?  _ We? _ Why do you always assume that there's going to be a we?" he managed to find some confidence of his own again.

"Because for some fucking reason  _ I care about you!" _ Simmons yells, his voice coming out hoarse and scratchy, something that Grif only  _ just _ noticed probably because Simmons had reminded him about how he had strangled him not too long ago.

Sneering, Grif tries to counter with, "You don't care about m-"

_ "Don't tell me what I do or don't do," _ there was a fire in Simmons' eyes that not even Grif thinks he could douse. "You're just so- ugh! I can't- I just can't!"

"If you can't then don't bother with me!" he turns his head away from the other man. He doesn't like this conversation in the slightest, not because of the way that Simmons is, probably and he was guessing about this, hurting but because it was causing a heavy and oily feeling to settle deep within his chest and he didn't like it.

"No- I will bother with you because I love you but christ almighty I don't fucking like you at the moment," and Simmons paled after blurting that out.

Grif paused at hearing that, and his mind was starting to whirl, because, "You can't love me."

"I can and I do," Simmons looked solemn as he said that.

The other man sounded so sure in himself, and that makes Grif cautious, "You can't."

"Why? Why can't I love you?" Simmons challenges.

"Because-" and Grif cut himself off because he just didn't have a clear-cut reason. Just because, that's the only thing that his brain was supplying at the moment. Grif has never been inclined to care about other people, and now he understood why that was, but-

"You lack empathy, but that doesn't mean you can't open yourself up to people," and Simmons shifts awkwardly as his ears turned red and started to burn. "It's- just because you have ASPD, that doesn't... that doesn't mean you're incapable of finding some sort of happiness with other people."

Immediately he fires back, "And what if I don't want that with you?"

"That's fine," and Simmons managed to put him back in his place. "My wanting to help you live a better life isn't conditional."

Grif is shocked into silence.

Then, "I don't want to go to therapy."

"You need to at least get anger management," the other man was trying to placate him. "You can't just go around hurting people because you feel like it."

He wanted to counter that he had been doing that for a good chunk of his whole life, but that would only cause the conversation to continue and honestly? He was tired. In the span of two days, he had his entire world view upended. Grif had far too much to think about and contemplate and what was he supposed to do with this information? With any of it?

All it would do was make him hate the adults that he had in his life more. Why was it that the only people who recognized this disorder in Grif was the DIME? Had any adult pulled him aside as a child, brought him to a specialist then... then maybe...

DIME wouldn't have wanted him, for one thing. He'd probably have some sort of positive relationship with his sister that went beyond a general resentment towards her demeanor- something that he had caused when he tainted her elementary social development with his shadow. His mother was still a piece of shit, but perhaps she would have stuck around for just a little while more if he hadn't been left to run rampant with his aggressive tendencies.

What he lacked as a child... a support system that gave him access to tools and help.

A system that Simmons was willing to make for him.

"You know," Grif stated, opting to leave the subject alone for the moment. "We're going to have to separate soon. You to your dimension and me to mine. To throw DIME off our scent."

A crestfallen look appeared on Simmons' face as he sighed and said, "I know. But if you think that's gonna deter me away then you're wrong."

"And how do you expect to do that," Grif felt... despondent in a way at the confirmation that Simmons knew that Grif was going to drop him off and that they would branch off from each other.

"One month and we can meet back up again chose a dimension and stick to that one," Simmons offered. "I don't care in what manner that we stick together, so long that as we do. I'm invested in who you are as a person Grif, and I'd like to see you be the best you that can bring you happiness."

From there, the conversation went out like a match. Grif didn't know what to say to that- when had he ever be told by someone else that they were invested in  _ Grif. _ And an irrational part of his mind was trying to convince him that Simmons wanted to fundamentally change who Grif was by forcing him into therapy, but he actively fought it with logic. He  _ was _ a violent person, as a child, and then with this resurgence as an adult. It wasn't ok the things that he did. 

For the first time in his life, Grif could admit that he needed help.

When the time came for them to part ways, they had managed to maneuver around the DIME controlled communication issue, and it was mostly Simmons who figured out how to go about it. Taking the software and programming that made multidimensional communication possible and basically stealing it to make their own separate and DIME free setups. They'd use that to communicate in the month they spend in their original dimensions.

Grif dropped Simmons off in M17 and didn't stay long to see Simmons disappear in the distance. He hurried over to U15, and stared at hauntingly familiar street signs, acting as the final nail in the coffin at everything that had been stolen from his memories. He kept the black cube that blocked his signal firmly on his neck and ignored the way that it felt like his bones were creaking-  _ the two of them forgot about how Grif wasn't supposed to be using his exoskeleton on the day off, he had used it twice, and then now again with no rest in-between- _ and walked with no idea where he was going forward beyond knowing that he was on his own right now.

Everything just seemed to have piled on top of each other, and he drifted, feeling more lost than he has in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, or as I like to call it, the one where I finally started the burn part of this slow-burn relationship. Also, I do want to stress that Simmons' motivations during this chapter weren't that whole "love can fix mental illness" bullshit, which I hate seeing in romance movies because it just romanticizes the hell out of mental disorders. Here, Simmons realizes that the person he really cares about has been unknowingly struggling with a disorder that heavily affects his way of life, and wants to help him get help. But he also points out that this isn't an excuse for Grif's actions, he's still liable for the things he's done, but going forward he can better himself. I know someone who has sociopathic tendencies, and it has been very hard to help him as he just keeps doing shitty things. No Grimmons can or even will occur until Grif has started therapy because as it stands right now he is a very shitty person. It's also _not_ Simmons' responsibility to help Grif, he is simply choosing to stand by him during this time because _he_ wants to truly see Grif get better.
> 
> Also, the choice of Grif's alias being Kaikane is a reference to my other fic The Messages That Never Sent, because I thought it would have been a funny easter-egg of sorts, haha!
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	21. I Don't Feel So Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Chronic Pain** | Hypothermia | Infection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another early posting because guys, _guys,_ I went to bed early, and wow! It did wonders for my stamina. Going forward I'm gonna keep trying to post early because that boost definitely helps with my early morning classes. Also, ten days left!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; chronic pain, self-internalized ableism ("monster")_

Grif had no loyalty to U15, and within that month, he only realized that despite this being his original dimension he just didn't  _ fit. _ Maybe it was because of all of his experiences working for DIME or maybe it was because now he knows what was wrong with him all this time. But either way, he doesn't feel connected or tethered to the world he now resided in, for however briefly that would be. Logically, he knows that during the first week his dimensional residue had realigned itself back to its original coating. But he feels like an outsider like he wasn't meant to be here and yet he was.

He also had the unfortunate luck to return to this dimension during the winter in the northern hemisphere. Grif was born in Honolulu, Hawai'i but his mother had moved them both to the slums of New York not too long before Kaikaina would be born. Had he grown up on the island, he might have been accustomed to the heat, but he didn't so he was very much used to the disgusting way the ground would settle during the frigid months of the wintertime.

The grey slush that reminded him of brain matter sloshed underneath his boots, and he dug his numb fingers into the pockets of his trench coat as he searched for a motel that first week. He wasn't going to pay for any expensive hotel- he simply didn't have the amount of cash to make that feasible- and considering that he'd be leaving again in a month, he didn't bother to look for an apartment. The motel would have to do for now, and if worst came to shove, he would simply go and find a homeless shelter to stay in.

Only having two outfits, the cold seeped into his bones and if that wasn't shitty enough, his exoskeleton had contracted, pulling his skin along with it. He'd never had to deal with this problem before, the DIME Corps was very well insulated and he never was out in the field long enough for this to be a problem. But, of course, it made sense for this to happen- metal contracted in the cold. It just so happened that said metal was attached to his spine directly.

And the entire month was filled with creaks and pains, skin sore and taut against his spin, as he hissed at all of the movements he tried to make. The first chance he got, he bought a thick wool scarf and wound it against his neck, keeping it out of reach from the cold and keeping the black cube hidden from sight as well. His leg also started to throb with pain occasionally, his calf aching with the cold.

It was beyond miserable. Even before DIME Grif never did well during the winter months, always feeling compelled to hole up in his room and never come out again. But now- with every scar and alteration made on his body, it went from being a bad case of seasonal depression to never-ending chronic hell.

He didn't have any energy to go out and find an anger management counselor like he told Simmons he would do. Plus, he didn't think he'd actually have enough money to go to more than one session, so there was that too. He had gotten a part-time job at a small bodega, but the money from that was only to buy food. The money he had taken out from his ID Card while they had the chance was for paying the fee for the motel primarily.

Then, during the third week of his stay in U15, as if it couldn't possibly have gotten any worse he ran into his  _ sister. _ It shouldn't have been possible, in fact, it pissed him off that his luck was so shitty that he had crossed paths with her. He hadn't even noticed at first. Grif was waiting on the subway platform to catch the A Train, and he rubbed his hands together just grateful that he was out of the cold for the moment. Which was saying a lot since the subways were  _ disgusting _ being dank and musty, and he could spot a couple of cockroaches in the corner of his eyes. As customary of broke motherfuckers, he had jumped the subway toll and now could appreciate a free subway ride to Central Park.

A woman was approaching him awkwardly from his right, but he firmly ignored her and waited for his train to pull. When he did, he walked aboard and scouted to see exactly how crowded it was. There were a few seats open- but he wasn't going to sit down on those grimy filth-ridden things, so he walked to find some purchase for standing up. On the other side of the cart, he saw what was clearly a person about to make this subway trip hell, so he moved on to the next car, seeing that it was actually more crowded but didn't have any noticeable wackjobs so that was good enough for him.

Just as he was about to wrap his gloved hand on the pole by the door, a recognizable voice spoke up, "I thought that was you, Dex."

His fingers twitched and retreated, and Grif turned around to see what could have practically been his twin. Adults always used to say that he and his sister looked remarkably similar, but he never saw it that way.

But now, looking at her, staring at him with some gross unguarded emotion, he would much rather have been back in the original car with the man who was likely a performer or if unlucky enough, a flasher.

Fuck, he just might switch cars if she wasn't in the fucking way.

The only way he could see himself getting out of this situation was to ignore his sister entirely, staring off into the distance. Maybe she would think that he was a stranger who just _looked_ like her brother.

That wasn't the case when she wrapped a firm and meticulously styled hand around his shoulder, a sharp look in her eyes as she said, "Dexter."

"It's common courtesy to not talk on the subway," is his only response.

Kaikaina narrowed her eyes at him but kept her hand in place, and as the train stopped at the various points, he eyed the electronic map that showed where they were and wondered when the fuck she was going to get off.

Apparently, the answer was when  _ he _ got off. When his stop came, she followed right behind him, and he tried to lose her in the crowded subway platform, but she was like a fucking wasp with a vendetta, tailing right after him. Fuck, if this was how the Assets felt then he could understand why Locus-X had shot him to get rid of him.

Turning around, his coat flapping behind him, he ground his teeth and asked,  _ "What." _

"We're going to get coffee," Kai told him as if she had any sort of sway over what he did or didn't do. "We're going to go to this little café near here, and we're going to talk."

_ "I," _ he stressed. "Don't have to do anything."

"Just do this one thing for me," she sighed exasperatedly as if he was inconveniencing her when it was really the other way around.

Knowing that the only way to get rid of her would be to just comply, he groaned out, "Fine. But you're paying." There was no way that he would do this  _ and _ pay for what would undoubtedly be a shitty brew at an extortionate price.

She was satisfied with his compliance, she led him to some hole in the wall café and got a table by the back, out of sight of people entering. Out of the way for whatever talk she wanted to have.

Kai ordered some overly sweet drink with what Grif had to guess was three shots of expresso doused in whipped cream, whereas he went with a simple iced tea. Why he was getting iced tea during the middle of the coldest month of the year, not even he fucking knew. He just couldn't stand anything else on the menu.

Despite shoehorning him into coming here with her, Kai absentmindedly stirred her drink with her straw, staring down lost in her thoughts at her cavity-inducing monstrosity.

She finally spoke when he had his drink at the edge of his lips, saying in a matter of fact voice, "You made my childhood a living hell, you know that right?"

Grif lowered his drink, not saying anything, and held back the urge to roll his eyes at her. The words that Simmons had yelled at him echoed in his mind, so he deigned to let her finish speaking.

Kai took another sip before continuing, "The reputation you set for us Grif's, you beating that child blue and bloody, and everything else, it sticks with me on the darkest of nights. The monster under my bed turned into you over time, as I got older and realized you did me no favors stopping that bully."

He is impassive at this information, and now he knows that  _ that's _ the problem.

"And when mom left," Kai took a shuddering breath. "I was left alone with you, and she just expected you to take care of me. Sometimes I wonder if she thought you'd kill me when time went on. Do you know what it was like, to be raised by someone who didn't care if I would fall off the roof and snap my neck just the same as if I was actually in bed or not?"

She doesn't speak for a second, so Grif assumed that she wanted a verbal answer, "Mom never cared for me either."

"I'm not talking about mom," she shook her head. "I'm talking about _you."_

Silence.

"You were supposed to be my big brother," Kai didn't have any tears in her eyes, and Grif realizes that this must be something she had came to terms with long ago. "But you weren't."

Grif had no idea what she wanted him to say or do in this situation. Did she expect him to apologize? Because she wouldn't get it. She was never on the receiving end of one of mom's fits of anger and alcohol ridden haze, throwing things, hitting him because of the way he acted. He didn't need someone hurting him for hurting others, he needed her to get him real help.

Kai turned bitter at his lack of response, and took another sip of her drink, changing gears and asking, "Where were you all these years? I tried to track you down but could never find you. It was like you didn't exist anymore, and I thought that maybe you had finally curled up and died but consider my surprise to see you standing there on the platform."

"I was kidnapped," and that's the only way he can explain the whole DIME situation without getting into the specifics of the multiverse. Because that would require proof and he wasn't obligated to show her any, plus any exoskeleton activity could draw the attention of DIME too soon and he wouldn't risk his neck to show his sister anything. Plus, it wasn't exactly a lie. DIME had taken him from his home and pretty much held him against his unknowing will. Contextualized like that, that's really what his reality these past few years had been.

Her eyes widened with horror, before narrowing in suspicion, "Bullshit."

"I can't exactly prove this sort of thing to you," he shrugged. Well, technically a lie, but it would be too much of a bother. He couldn't just strip in a public place to show off his exoskeleton- plus walking around so much starting to cause his back to hurt- nor could he roll of up pants leg to show her the bullet wound that could pass off as being done by his 'kidnappers' instead of a criminal he had been chasing down.

Grif watched as Kai struggled internally about whether or not to believe him. He thought that she wouldn't- really she had no reason to trust him about jack shit- but her expression softened and she said, "Fuck, Dex, really? For how long?"

"Years," he shrugged because honestly, he can't remember himself. He wonders if that was the fault of the pin- which he still couldn't get removed yet, and he had to resist the urge to tear at the back of his neck to get at it, but thankfully the black cube would stop him if he found himself attempting too- trying to make it seem like he's  _ always _ been with DIME.

"How'd you escape? Are you still safe?" for someone that made her childhood hell, Kai was somehow invested in his well being.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Simmons informed him,  _ of course she cares, you're still her fucking brother. _

"A friend helped me, and well, no," he told her the truth, just so she wouldn't get any ideas about him sticking around or anything. "They're still after me- the both of us, really- so I've been trying to stay on the down-low. They'll probably be after me for the rest of my life."

Kai rose a hand to her lips, and with that movement, he can confirm that she really did hold herself with far more grace than Kai-T8 did. She was poised, well dressed, and looked far better off than her monster of a brother was. And realizing that shocked him, because he certainly played no hand in shaping her into the woman before him. He wondered, only briefly, if she learned all of this on her own. Grif could vaguely recall seeing Kai watching makeup videos on the internet as he walked past her room. So was that it? A couple of untouchable people on the internet to guide her into adulthood?

"I'm sorry, that's awful," and she  _ sounded like she meant it. _ That baffled Grif. He just couldn't understand how other people could do that whole empathy thing so easily and actually  _ mean it. _ Simmons could, and so did Kai. Could everybody? Was it just Grif who was cut off from this part of social and human interaction?

"It's whatever," he turns his attention towards his drink, considerably smaller pieces of ice now that it started to melt during their talk. "One good thing came out of it. Got a free diagnosis and everything."

He didn't say anything further, but Kai's eyes glinted under the fluorescent lights, and she told him, "I always knew it. Always wondered why nobody did anything to stop or help you before I realized nobody cared."

Snorting, he took a long sip of his drink. Good to know she thought the same regarding the situation.

"Are you... going to get therapy?" she asked.

Pausing with the straw in his mouth, he answered, "Anger management."

"Good." A pause. "That was the most concerning part about you."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say after that, and they parted ways without so much as a goodbye. Kai looked as if she wanted to, but she turned away first and hurried down the crowded block. Grif turned away as well, striding forward, with his hands fisted over a heating pack each. He returned to his motel and thought over the interaction, trying to figure out what Kai had  _ wanted _ from it. Closure? Just checking in on him since he  _ did _ drop off the face of the Earth- dimension actually?

He didn't know. And that pissed him off. His back hurt, his leg throbbed, and somewhere in his chest felt empty. 

Grif just wanted this stupid month to be over with already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you guys weren't thinking that there'd be closure to the loose end that was Grif's familial relationship with Kai! It ended on a very bitter note, but that's a bridge that Grif burned very early on in his life. And reconciling isn't something he's particularly interested in. Also, added in the self-internalized ableism tag because now that Grif is aware that he does have a mental disorder, those thoughts and calling himself a monster fall under that so I wanted to properly warn you guys.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	22. Do These Tacos Taste Funny to You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poisoned | Drugged | **Withdrawal**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, not to hate on the mods who designed these themes but I hate the next few Day Titles. Like this one just absolutely destroys the flow of some of the others, and there's like three more that are just... hm. I personally do not like.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; withdrawal, mentioned alcoholism, mentioned child abuse_

He never had to think hard on how long it'd been since he'd last used his exoskeleton in the past. Even though the RED's didn't get nearly as many missions as DEO's did, Grif would estimate that he had to create a portal at least once a week. Simmons was his go-to partner, as was expected of a Captain and Pilot pair, but he occasionally partnered up with Donut or god forbid Sarge if he had to. 

But now? Now he could feel the days creeping by the longer he went without using it. On top of the chronic pain that he had resigned himself to, he started to get jittery, his hands shaking with the desire to take in and release dimensional energy. He didn't even know if this was a normal side effect of the exoskeleton or if his body had acclimated to using the portal on a constant basis from their hunt of the Assets. He prayed that it wasn't the latter, because he did  _ not _ need to have that kind of shit hanging over his head for the rest of his life. DIME would surely notice consistent blips if he  _ had _ to use his exoskeleton to not fucking die or something. 

So when a month had passed, he didn't waste a single second opening up a portal to M17. He had packed up the meager belongings that he had the day prior, so it was simply a matter of waking up, getting dressed, grabbing his satchel, and getting the fuck out of U15. Grif had bundled himself up in his warmest clothes, not taking a single chance the M17 wouldn't  _ also _ be cold as fuck. 

In the final week of their month away from each other, Simmons' messages to Grif had been sparse. Grif didn't ask  _ why _ this was, figuring that it wasn't any of his business. But now he was standing around without knowing where the fuck to go to find Simmons, and none of his messages were getting responded to much less  _ read _ and therefore it had now very much become his business. 

He spent at least half an hour, just wandering around before he finally got a response. And it was a set of coordinates that Grif didn't hesitate going to, arriving at a very large mansion. But, it was not well kept, considering that the grass that made up the large yard had grown practically up to Grif's knees, and although the mansion was probably at one point a bright white to exude wealth it now resembled a sepulcher than anything else.

Walking up to the door, his boots thumping heavily against the marbled staircase, he banged his fist on the door not trusting that the doorbell would work on what resembled an essentially abandoned building.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long before a harried-looking Simmons opened the door a crack, and upon seeing his visage, opened it further and shooed him in saying, "Sorry, sorry, fuck I- sorry."

Grif raised an eyebrow at the utter mess of a greeting the Simmons gave him, but stepped inside of the building anyhow, looking around to see that the inside was much worse than the outside. Papers were strewn about and covered under a thin layer of dust, and an occasional liquor bottle peeped around the edge or corner of the various furniture in the large interior. The chandelier in the foyer was dull and dreary, hardly shining as if all of the available light was being sucked into a black hole.

He was shocked that Simmons would have decided to stick here for the duration of the month. Because, fuck, Grif didn't enjoy spending weeks at that cheap motel, but at least the room was clean- or as relatively clean as he could get it. And Simmons was always a bit of a neat freak when the two of them shared a room, so the fact that he wasn't in apron and bandana, cleaning scrubs on as he tore away at the grim of the building was baffling.

Or, perhaps Simmons wasn't having such a good time this month- not that Grif had either- given the way he had dark eye bags underneath his eyes, and his hair was matted against his forehead. The man looked like the definition of exhaustion, and it made Grif glad that he only had to deal with the cold during his month 'vacation.'

"You look like shit," he informed Simmons after finishing his examination of the house.

Simmons ran a shaky hand through his hair, sighing bitterly as he said, "Yeah, I know."

"Any particular reason why?" and Grif snuggled his face further into his scarf, absently a little miffed that while he had bitched about his problems with the cold and getting interrogated by Kai, Simmons apparently hadn't deemed him worthy enough to hear about his own shitty problems.

"It's hard to say," Simmons said before looking around, as if waiting for something to appear around the corner and bite off his head, "This place isn't mine, by the way, in case you were thinking that. I just... came to see-"

A new voice that Grif didn't recognize interrupted him, "Richard, who's this?"

Turning, he saw a woman with long,  _ long _ hair, that once might have been a vibrant and rich red but was now a frazzled light blond with streaks of white intermingled between the strands. Her frame was willowy, and there were slight tremors that terrorized her frame as she hugged herself tightly with her mossy colored silk bathrobe. Her skin was sunken in around her face, and her lips were cracked. All in all, she looked fucking terrible. But some part of her reminded him of Simmons, and that's what clued him in to the fact that he was staring at the other man's mother.

Approaching, Mrs. Simmons gave him a thorough once over, but considering that Grif looked much better than Simmons did at the moment, it must have been enough for her approval. If she knew that he was poor as shit, she might have sneered at him and casually suggested that Simmons take his friend elsewhere.

"Mother, this is my coworker," Simmons told her, a pinched look on his face as the woman inserted herself into their reunion. Grif had to hold back from saying  _ former _ coworker considering that they technically quit and just didn't tell their bosses. "Dexter."

And wow did Grif had to hold himself back from making a face at the casual way that Simmons called him by his given name. He hadn't thought of himself as  _ Dexter _ in literal years. He had practically shed the name the second he graduated from high school, and he didn't plan on returning to it anytime soon.

"Oh, from college, honey?" Mrs. Simmons had a faraway look in her eyes. "I'm Judith Simmons, but you can call me Judy if you like dear."

Yeah, he was most definitely not doing that, but instead of outright dismissing her, he instead responded with, "Of course, ma'am. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"So polite," Mrs. Simmons looked towards her son. "When your father gets home, be sure to introduce your friend to him."

Simmons swallowed harshly, and Grif watched his adam's apple bob with the action, and he noted that the bruises he had left were no longer visible. "Of course, Mother."

Judith nodded to herself, and hummed lightly before turning away and walking further into the dead house, her bare feet making softs pats against the ground as she walked.

"Right, that's my mother," Simmons hid his face in his hands, looking even more tired than before. "I came to visit her last week. But she was- she wasn't sober. I made her quit cold-turkey, and the first few days were just filled with anger and yelling, but now her memory has gone to shit and I can't tell if she was like that before and hid in booze to excuse it or if she fried her brain these past few years."

"That's..." he took a moment to consider his words. What to say that wouldn't offend Simmons immediately, "...that sounds like it fucking sucks." Close enough.

"Yeah, it does," the other man shook his head and gestured towards the staircase. "Come on, just this way. I need to pack some stuff still, I haven't had the time in the midst of-" and he made a strained noise. "-dealing with her."

Grif followed into a familiar step behind Simmons, looking at the paintings that were just out of sight in the foyer, noticing that some were family portraits, only of Simmons in his youth. None of them were of him after the accident.

Simmons went on ahead, entering a room that Grif supposed was his, but he didn't follow immediately after, instead wandering around the second-floor hallway, opening doors at random and looking inside just out of boredom. One room had bookcases filled completely and had even more papers thrown about and abandoned on the floor. Considering it was the most interesting room so far, Grif stepped further into it and took a look at the various books lined on the shelves.

He doesn't quite know what he was expecting, but seeing hundreds of books about the human anatomy and body wasn’t quite what he was expecting. Picking up one of them, he flipped it open to scan a few of the pages and was disturbed to see frantic and hurried written notes in the margins. The scrawl was practically illegible that he couldn't even begin to read it, so he just set it down and moved closer to the desk. All of the papers on top were sketches and blueprints for various prosthesis, Grif would bet that Mr. Simmons hadn't designed these but was overlooking them for suggestions or improvements.

Stepping back, and taking in the office one more time, he came to the conclusion that Victor Simmons hardly counted as a father and more a mad scientist.

"I see you've found my father's study," and Grif turned around to see Simmons staring with vitriol at the various papers and books. "I've come into her about twice this past week. Nothing good about any of this shit."

"Why come in here then?" Grif walked away from the whirlwind of ravings of familial experimentation and towards the victim of said ravings.

Simmons looked to the side and shrugged, "Thought I could find something useful in here. I didn't."

Grif nodded, accepting the response and the two of them left the room and the second floor entirely. Really, they didn't need to return to the first floor to portal to a new dimension, but walking seemed to be what Simmons wanted to do at the moment, so taking a few extra seconds to go down the stairs was no skin off Grif's back. Once on solid landing, Grif started up his exoskeleton, feeling it creak and tremble with the process. As the portal was building, a shrill scream echoed through the empty mansion.

Turning to look, they both saw Judith shaking and tearing up at the sight of the portal, a bony finger pointing at it as she hysterically said, "It's them- it's them again!"

"Shit," Simmons said under his breath, before racing up to his mother with his hands raised to calm her down. "Mother, please just relax-"

She whirled to face him directly, her pupils contracting as she looked down to see his own bag hanging from his side. Then she started to sweat profusely, looking sick like she could just throw up at any moment.

"You're leaving," she deadpanned. "You're leaving me- you can't leave me!"

"Mother-"

"No!" she screamed, shaking her head back and forth.  _ "No! _ They took Victor away and now you're leaving with them too?! What about me? Please you can't leave me, not when you've asked me to go sober."

Simmons looked uncomfortable when faced with the crying woman, and nothing he said to her would make her calm down. Grif watched on, equally in discomfort at the proceedings. His mother struggled with alcohol and drugs, but she never got hysterical like this. Except when she was determined to take her anger out on him.

"I can't just stay here forever," Simmons tried to explain to no avail.

"I took care of you when you were ill," she reached out and grabbed desperately to the lapels on his coat. "I took such good care of you didn't I baby? Why can't you take care of me back?"

Simmons looked conflicted, and something about her words made a twinge of annoyance flash onto his face, but it quickly was submerged by his underlining desire to stay and take care of his mother. But Grif could tell that he really,  _ really _ didn't want to stay, just from the way his hands snaked up to pry off his mothers from his coat.

Grif could foresee this going on for ages, so he simply stepped up to Simmons and whispered an idea in his ear. He waited for it to sink in and for the other man to digest it, and he wasn't sure if he would take to the idea.

But he was proven wrong when an hour later, the two of them were walking out of a rehab center and heading on their way to somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because Grif isn't actively trying to manipulate, pushing Simmons' to put his mom in rehab just so the two of them could leave is still pretty manipulative. But on a much smaller scale than some of the other shit that he tried to do.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	23. What's a Whumpee Gotta Do to Get Some Sleep Around Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Exhaustion** | Narcolepsy | **Sleep Deprivation**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Day Title that I hate. It's so long, eugh, but I have to stick to it so I will. I'm sorta so-so about this chapter, I don't particularly like or hate it. But I hope you guys end up enjoying it!
> 
> For the duration of this month, all mistakes are my own!
> 
> _TW; exhaustion, sleep deprivation_

Without a destination in mind, the two of them experiment with the process of dimension crossing without a specific goal in sight. It was how Dimensional Criminals got around since very few of them actually knew what specific dimension had what they were looking for. Rather it all depended on the specific instrument of their crossing. If a Dimensional Criminal managed to jerry-rig a locked-down portal, or if they somehow tried to sneak past DIME facilities to use their own, they could simply insert key phrases or words, and the machine that operated it would spit out a dimension that fits that specific bill. 

A Key would rip open a rift in space, and more often than not without an additional navigation device, it was completely random. You'd simply have to hope for the best. The Key's that Tucker and Felix-Z had does include a NavDe, but in the case of the Assets, they mainly crossed at random or went to specific dimensions to antagonize the two former SEO's when they had been chasing them. Considering that there were only two Keys currently in existence- with others being in production stages still, due to the temperamental nature of its mechanism- this was the rarest way of traversing the multiverse.

Dimensional Guns was third most popular after locked down portals, and they too had a NavDe of sorts, but they were also prone to overheating and exploding if used for long periods at a time. Because of this fault in its design, not many Dimensional Criminals relied on this method. The risk didn't outweigh the benefits in the slightest.

And lastly, the second most used method of crossing dimensions was that of Pilots. It was only more used than the guns because DIME simply had a large sum of agents in total, and thus even though it was only a subgroup in the organization that were Pilots, that still meant a  _ lot _ of people with that kind of technology. Because Pilots had  _ become _ the equipment themselves, there wasn't any way to attach a NavDe to them, which is where Captains came in. They would handle the navigation aspect, relaying coordinates to the Pilots, from there they would have to have those coordinates, although a dimensional designation would do as well so long as the Pilot could visualize it in their mind, at the forefront of their consciousness. The exoskeleton is attached to their spines and thus their nervous system helped with this process.

But, currently, neither Simmons nor Grif knew where the fuck they would go next. All they knew was that it wouldn't be DIME, nor U15, nor M17. Just-  _ elsewhere. _ Obviously, this wasn't ideal since not having a destination in mind could lead to fucked up dimensions. Like, real fucked up shit. They didn't have any other choice though, so trying to pluck up the kind of stupid luck that Dimensional Criminals seemed to have when they left M17, Grif rolled the die to see what they would end up with.

Walking out of the portal, everything seemed fine at first. They were likely in the downtown of some sort of city- Grif couldn't be assed to figure out which- due to the tall buildings and busy sidewalks. The sky was normal if a bit grey and a nice breeze tousled their hair, and therefore it was a normal mundane dimension.

Which Grif didn't trust at all, there's no way they got this lucky. He was the type of bastard to hit every light whilst trying to make it to the train station to catch the only train available without being late. Only to make it just in time for the doors to close right in his face.

Simmons seemed to share this sentiment, simply staring around with an anxiety-ridden face, looking as if he'd get jumped at any second.

"Wasn't this your idea," Grif questioned, making the other man pause his fretting. "Escaping to a random dimension, risking DIME coming after our asses?"

"Yes," Simmons hissed out, shaking out his hands. He took in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds before releasing it. "Just- never thought we'd actually get a chance to do this. But, we'll be fine. Totally."

"If anything, if this dimension turns out shitty we can always skip and move on to the next," Grif shrugged. "Seems fine so far, very normal."

"Good," Simmons took a hesitant step forward. "Normal is good."

Walking to stand by his side, Grif looked and watched the various pedestrians, taking note of what type of dress they were in- autumn clothing, which meant he was right at home with how bundled up he was, only somewhat disappointed that he'd have to face winter bullshit all over again- as well as any defining features that they might collectively have. Which was none, a stark difference from that one dimension with the branding tattoos.

Done with his surveying, Grif added, "Like a breath of fresh air."

Giving him a shaky smile, Simmons nodded his head and said, "Yeah."

Continuing in their long string of nights spent in temporary rooms, Simmons booked them a suite- a far cry from the shitty motel in U15 and an upgrade from that first hotel. Before leaving M17, the other man took a shit ton of money out of all of the various bank accounts that the Simmons family-owned. Considering that they couldn't take money out of their ID Cards without drawing the attention of DIME, and Grif hardly had any left himself, this worked out more than perfectly.

"We'll stay here for the time being as we acclimate to this dimension, maybe a week at minimum," Simmons suggested, throwing his duffle bag down on top of the king-sized bed. "And, if we decide we like it, we can get a job and then, a house. Or an apartment."

"Shouldn't forging our identities be the first thing we do if we want to stay," Grif walked around the suite, staring idly out the window before drawing the curtains and settling on the couch. "Unless you're partial for stealing the identities of our doubles if they exist in this universe."

Coughing into his fist, Simmons looked sheepish as he said, "Right, yeah we'll have to do that. Taking on a new name shouldn't be all that hard."

"And we probably wouldn't have to change our last names, since it's not like they're unique or some shit," Grif shrugged. "I'm thinking about how for a new first name I should go with Darius."

"Darius?" Simmons scrunched up his face at the name, which firstly was rude.

And secondly, "What, would your prefer Darren?"

It took a few seconds before Simmons relented with, "Darius is fine."

"You should go with Hunter," Grif suggested. "Dick, Hunter."

"Fuck off," Simmons shot back, shaking off his coat and placing it on a hanger to put in the coat closet.

"What? Not good enough?" his lips quirked up. "I'm sure I can think of something better if you give me some time."

"Please don't," Simmons groaned, falling face-first into the bed as soon as his shoes were off. "Fuck, I don't know why I'm so tired. We just got here."

"Could be the fact that you've spent the past week taking care of your unstable mother," Grif flipped through the TV channel guide. It'd been so long since he genuinely sat down to watch something. That whole month had him aching and moving like a snail, even the most menial tasks had turned laborious. Watching TV was just not on his mind.

Now he turned on the news, just to see where the hell they were, and only idly paid attention to the time displayed.

"Probably," Simmons' voice was muffled by the bed. "I just want to sleep for an entire day."

"Mood," the news wasn't showing anything interesting. Apparently, they were in a city called Chessnue.

After a while, Grif was sure that Simmons had fallen asleep, given the way he laid prone against the bed, but after an hour or so, he snapped back up and said, "Why the fuck can't I fall asleep?"

Turning towards him, Grif quirked an eyebrow and said, "Uh, because you're impatient as fuck? Jesus, just lie still dude."

"I  _ was _ lying still," Simmons growled, turning around on the bed to face him, hair strands falling in front of his eyes. "Had my eyes closed and everything. I'm so tired that I could collapse and yet I can't."

"I don't feel tired," well, not any more tired than normal. He still had his coat on, scarf too, but the warmth of the layers didn't make him drowsy when they normally did in U15. "You're probably just overreacting."

It turns out, no, Simmons  _ wasn't _ overreacting, because it was literally hours later when Grif had exhausted all reason to stay up watching mindless drivel and turned to his own bed in the suite. Only to lay down, close his eyes, and feel absolutely nothing except for soul-crushing exhaustion.

Ok, what the fuck.

Simmons was glaring at him from his side of the room, obviously not pleased with how Grif had waved off his concern hours earlier, but with a hint of smug satisfaction at seeing Grif face the same dilemma as he. Flipping him the bird as he hauled himself off of the bed, Grif walked towards the windows and threw the curtains aside, squinting at the blinding light that assaulted his eyes. Hissing as he raised a hand to shade them, he tried to focus his eyes as best he could to see what could be the cause of the bright light. A second later he got his answer.

It was daylight outside. Bright as fuck too. Which shouldn't be possible considering that multiple hours had passed, so it should have at least been dusk by now. Looking around for a clock of some sort, he couldn't find any before remembering the time displayed on the news channel he had flipped to when first turning on the TV. Grabbing the remote, he turned the TV on and entered the channel number only to find out that it was one in the goddamn morning.

"Are we in fucking Alaska?" Grif asked, shocked at the reveal of the time. "Are we seriously in fucking Alaska right now?"

"Huh?" Simmons made a tired sounding noise. "No, that can't be it."

Grif ignored him and continued with his rant, "Who in their goddamn mind would ever want to live in fucking Alaska. Not me that's who. Let's leave  _ now." _

"It's close to winter and you're trying to convince me that this is Alaska," Simmons scowled. "You just see that it's bright as shit out and are assuming that it's Alaska because of the way the sun rises and sets. It's dark all day long during the winter dumbass- plus there'd be snow!"

"Then explain why there's practically studio lighting outside when it should be dark as shit," Grif went back to close the curtains to keep out the disgustingly bright light.

"Does it look like I know," the other man got off of the bed and stomped his feet a little. "I'm tired as all hell, I can't sleep, and nighttime apparently doesn't exist."

Grif paused. Then, "Dude, you don't think-"

Simmons seemed to have realized the same thing as him because he interrupted to say, "No fucking way. We did  _ not _ cross over to a dimension where people are incapable of sleeping."

Literally,  _ why _ would a universe have this dynamic? No seriously, Grif couldn't even begin to think about any kind of benefit one could get from this type of bullshit. If it was just that the denizens didn't need to sleep that's all well and good, but considering that Grif and Simmons felt drained, he was willing to bet that the dimension sucked the energy right out of the people living inside of it while simultaneously forcing them to stay awake.

But if that was the case- "Why would there even be a need for beds if people didn't have to sleep?"

"That's what you're focusing on?" Simmons slammed his palm against his face. "Really?"

"I'm just wondering if you spent extra on king-sized beds when we wouldn't even need them in the first place," he pointed out. "Because- people don't typically sit on beds. You sit on coaches or chairs, which we  _ have." _

Saying that got Simmons to actually consider his words. Followed by, "Did we get fucking scammed?"

"We got scammed," Grif confirmed.

It didn't even need to be discussed between the two that they would  _ not _ be residing in this dimension for the rest of their lives. Grif could not get paid enough to do it. His sleep schedule might have been absolute shit for the longest time, but he  _ liked _ to sleep. Not being able to must be a special circle of hell for sure, and maybe that's what this dimension actually was- Hell.

Simmons couldn't even go down and yell at the people who owned the hotel, considering that if they actually belonged to this dimension it would be a no-brainer that the beds would be obsolete. This was on their dumbasses, and the people staffed in the hotel must have been laughing their asses off at the two idiots who spent cash on a useless pair of furniture.

They left the dimension, both sore due to not finding the perfect dimension on the first try and the fact that it was money purely wasted. It probably wasn't a good idea to portal away so soon as arriving here, but they couldn't stand to stay a second longer. The two of them would just have to try again.

Or as long as it would take until they were satisfied with their choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that they're the ones crossing dimensions they're not having any better luck than when they were following after Locus-X and Felix-Z. Will they find the perfect dimension to settle down in? Who knows? Well, I do, but not you guys.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	24. You're Not Making Any Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | **Sensory Deprivation**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so like, I had a headache at the beginning of writing this so I was gonna keep it on the smaller side, and show how I made this much longer than the past updates. Why would I do this to myself?
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; sensory deprivation, mention of porn (no actual porn)_

All things considered, the next dimension they wind up turned out much better than the last one. The dimension, C83, is on the futuristic side of the multiverse, but unlike that dystopian one, this one seems to be doing well off for itself. Or at the very least, the citizens weren't being subjugated by a government hell-bent on making its citizens cower in fear and pain. It was a bit crowded with buildings practically on top of each other, but that only meant that if they stayed long enough and DIME came after them, they could navigate the city easily while the officers would scramble after them, likely getting lost.

Plus, there were androids practically  _ everywhere. _

Which was neat, especially after hearing about artificial intelligence from other dimensions, getting to actually witness firsthand how they interacted with humans was beyond interesting. Avoiding the uncanny valley effect entirely, they didn't really resemble humans beyond having bipedal anatomy. All of the different shapes and models were fascinating, and the fact that they just roamed freely was even more so. Nobody made of flesh seemed to care or even mind, and Grif witnessed more than one positive conversation between the two groups.

Considering how many books and people warned about how robots would outgrow humans and enslave them all, this dimension was certainly unique. It's almost as though if you treat another creature with respect they will go and do the same. Or- and Grif had no experience in this himself, but considering how wrong his childhood was, he could recognize that this applied to most well-adjusted people- if a parent treats their child with love and care, they will do the same when they themselves outgrow the parent. And really, that's what AI's were at the end of it all, creations made by whatever scientist was smart enough to breathe life into the world in the form of code and binary.

So far, Grif was all for this dimension. The aesthetic was really a selling point for it, he had to admit.

Even Simmons was optimistic about it, and he very much became a supporter of staying a while after seeing that a lot of the denizens had cybernetic enhancements themselves, meaning he didn't stand out in the slightest. Considering that this was a worry in other less technologically advanced dimensions, managing to get lucky and end up here.

But, they weren't stupid and they certainly learned their lesson from last time. Just because it looked ok on the surface didn't mean there wasn't some fuckery going on. Since they barely managed to last a day in the last dimension, their original plan of 'oh just stay a week before deciding' became 'stay a fucking month before  _ maybe _ deciding.' Grif certainly wasn't going to get attached to this dimension just because he liked it so far.

It took far longer to find a place to stay in this dimension, and the place that they did end up in had multiple neon signs and holographic decorations, that if Grif hadn't double-checked just to make sure that it  _ wasn't _ a sex hotel he would have thought that immediately. The man at the receptionist’s desk gladly gave them their room keys and directed them to the elevator that would take them to their rooms. The orbed shape contraption had no buttons on the interior, apparently, all they had to do was tap their plastic key cards against the scanner and it would deposit them directly to their suite. So long as they didn't lose the cards, no one would be able to get in beyond them and the cleaners.

Which was very handy considering unless DIME knew the exact coordinates, there would be no way for them to get into the suite. Meaning that at least they would be safe from any ambushes while they were asleep or just resting in the room.

Neither of them did much beyond exploring the city more during the first initial week, still tentative that something would pop up to make them get the fuck out of there at a moment’s notice. But once the seventh day passes, and they're still satisfied with what the dimension has to offer, they agree that they should start looking for a job of some sort so that they wouldn't dip any further into their collective funds.

The jobs in this dimension are  _ weird _ though. Androids seemed to have taken over all of the menial tasks, which left humans to do... well...

"I have never once blown glass in my life," Grif told Simmons, an angry look on his face. "Why in the  _ fuck _ do you think I would want to be a  _ star glassmaker." _

"It could be a fun experience," Simmons shrugged, but he looked more like he was close to being on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Various holographic tablets were scattered on the table in their hotel room, and all of them had job applications for strange and incredibly niche careers.

Picking up one of the discarded ones on the side, Grif reread the description of a librarian that transcribed written works into holographic pads. Which  _ seemed _ normal until the caveat that it was strictly the transcription of pornographic texts from the very start of time to the point where all physical publications ended. Grif couldn't even begin to fathom why  _ anybody _ would ever want that job, or why it was even necessary in the first place. Couldn't they just get a program to scan all of the works and transcribe them digitally?

But when Grif compared it to all of the other options, fuck, he might as well just embody his inner Tucker and chose that over the rest. He wasn't a pervert by any means, and he rarely ever read that type of shit genuinely. However, as the multiversal saying went, money is money so fuck it.

"I'll apply for this one," Grif shrugged. They already took care of forging new identifications, the other day, and considering how weirdly advanced this dimension was it took hardly any effort at all. Apparently, with their new ID Cards, the name could be updated at any time, which was good because Simmons still hadn't decided on a permanent new alias. Not that Grif was much better considering he kept flip-flopping on what he wanted his first name to be. Right now the card had Darius since he thought it up in the last dimension, but he didn't think it would stick.

Simmons hummed at his exclamation, still looking despairingly at the other tablets. Grif was glad that this had taken up his attention, the longer they stayed in this specific dimension, the more he felt his inner timer count down for how long he could avoid attending the T-word.

Prepared to head out to secure the position, Grif headed towards the scanner on the wall that would summon the orb elevator, when Simmons called out to him, "Oh, Grif, while you're out maybe you could check out this place."

Turning towards Simmons, and feeling his timer let out a shrill ring, Grif dropped his shoulders and shuffled back towards the other man to snatch the offered tablet out of his hands.

_ Dr. Emily Grey, Psychologist & Cybernetic Counselor. _

Goddammit.

Looking back up to glare at Simmons, and seeing his faux innocent smile, Grif wondered just what excuse he could come up with for why he  _ didn't _ check it out in the end.

Simmons' smile tightened, and he perished the thought.

Whatever, all he had to do was check the place out, and even though Grif-S15 had suggested they search out a dimensional double of the woman, that didn't mean jack shit.

Leaving the hotel, he headed towards the library that would make him uncomfortable for however long it took to finish the job. How much written porn could there have possibly been, and considering they've been at this transcribing shit for however long, there couldn't be  _ too _ much left right? Hopefully. Although in a roundabout way, he should have been hoping that it would take forever- that meant more money after all. Had it been any other genre of literature, that definitely would have been his main hope.

With all of his judging, when he finally arrives at the place he sure as fuck wasn't expecting a small old lady to be the librarian in need of assistance. It must have been the subject matter clouding his mind, considering that the archetype of a librarian  _ was _ often older folks, but to see her wobbly smile as she gives him the job and tells him that he can start practicing for an hour at that moment practically sends him walking right out the door.

And that's how he spends the next hour, doing the slow and aggravating process of looking down at a book to read a steamy sentence only to type it up on a tablet to preserve the 'important pieces of history.'

If literally anyone that he knew beyond Simmons could see him now, they would be dead on the floor from laughing and then getting strangled by him. Working his jaw and grinding his teeth, he remembers how Simmons handed him that tablet earlier, and the overhead threat that if he acted out it would lead Simmons to kick his ass into the building himself. Talking to Dr. Grey doesn't seem all that shitty now if he did it on his own terms.

The hour passes and the old lady checks over his work before letting out a satisfied grunt, informing him that she expects to see him bright and early the next day. She hands him the minimum wage for an hour and says that he would start on the proper payroll tomorrow, but since he already did  _ such _ good work he deserves to get paid for his efforts.

He plans on throwing the money right in Simmons’ face since he can already see the inevitable smirk when Grif tells him of how it went.

Grif spends about a minute or two contemplating whether he should genuinely visit Dr. Grey when all of the holographic screens blare out an alarm. A sinking feeling develops in his gut, and he wonders if this is the other shoe dropping finally. He half expects an encore to the torture displayed in that one hellscape of a dimension, but there's no live broadcast, only a warning that there's a rogue android on the loose, wanted for the crime of double homicide. Huh, well, Grif supposes that anything made by humans would inherit their propensity for evil as well.

What follows next, is a weird pulse that stops Grif's in his tracks, frying some part of his brain, and causing his exoskeleton to fizzle out and cease its incessant humming that started up a little over a month ago. Then, he twitches, a shiver going down his spine reminiscent of something wanting to hatch right out of it.

Ok. What the ever-living fuck was that.

Beyond that brief moment, nothing else happens to him or even anyone else. In fact, he's practically the only one affected by what just happened given that a cursory glance shows that no one even stopped walking.

Well, no one that was purely flesh and bones that is.

The androids that often mill about the city had all settled down against the ground in a seated position, and all of their LED lights were off. Those that hadn't sat down before the pulse were gently being lowered to the ground by other citizens before they back away and walked on.

But not even those with cybernetics were affected, so even while Grif suspected that it must have been some sort of EMP, it didn't make sense that he was the only one who was affected-

Wait. Shit.

He doesn't  _ quite _ hurry back to the suite, but he certainly does give up any thought of checking out Dr. Grey's practice in favor of seeing if Simmons was in the range of the pulse as well. And if he felt anything either.

Grif walks calmly into the lobby and then equally as calm when he enters the elevator, it's only when he enters the suite proper does he walk a little more briskly to where Simmons has collapsed against the back of the couch.

"Simmons," he kneels down next to the man. "Are you ok?"

Simmons, at the very least, is responsive, turning his right side of his head closer to where Grif is, but his eyes are unfocused and he still hasn't responded. Waving a hand in front of his face, there's no indication that he even saw the movement. Reaching out, unsure if Simmons' head lolling was an actual response or not, he pushes lightly at his left shoulder. Nothing.

Switching gears, he pushes at his right shoulder instead and finally gains a reaction. Simmons' right-hand snaps up to grab at his hand, and he stutters out a "G-grif?"

"Yeah, it's me," he answers, but at the sign that there's no response, he brings up his right palm to drag his finger against for a simple 'Y.'

"S-something's, wr-rong," the other man's speech is distorted, and Grif can't even begin to imagine why. But he does have a bit of a clearer image of what exactly has happened. He tries to pull up a portal, and nothing happens. No whirring or humming from his exoskeleton, no heating up from the metal, completely offline.

And considering that Simmons was mostly cybernetic- with designs made from outside this dimension- everything must have shut off for him too. So he was left without practically any of his sense because of course his weird-ass father had to replace and replace again. Grif still didn't know why his tongue would need to be modified with cybernetics, but there was no way he would put himself into the shoes of that man.

Wait, if these were all offline then-

Grif slaps his hand against the back of his neck, hitting the black cube. Shit.  _ Shit. _

Ok, this was all fine, all they would have to do is find, fuck, someone who could reverse this. In a city like this, there had to be at least someone who could, right? Obviously, considering the nonchalance from the androids and people not even blinking at the sending out of an EMP. It must not be permanent or however the fuck that would even work. Definitely reversible. 

He returns back to Simmons' hand and spells out, in the familiar repetition manner,  _ 'G E T T I N G H E L P.' _

"O-ok," Simmons jerkily nods his head, and Grif lets go of his hand.

Right, now he just had to find a mechanic or whatever to fix both of them. Because staying in this dimension would simply not be viable without the black cube hiding their pin signals from DIME. Not having a way out with his exoskeleton out of commission made him antsy.

Wandering around the streets and occasionally asking where to find someone who could touch up or repair cybernetics, he eventually finds himself outside of  _ Dick and Dex's Repair Shop. _

God fucking dammit just his luck. Had he not already been stressed he would surely have given himself a headache from how hard his jaw was locked. Whatever he just had to deal with a double for a couple of hours and then everything would be right as rain.

Walking into the repair shop, he waited until  _ someone _ addressed him, and because his luck was oh so amazing, it was his double that walked to the front desk to greet him.

"Yo, do you have an appointment or are you a walk...in..." Grif-C83 had started out semi-enthusiastic before actually paying attention to who he was addressing. Now they were a couple of assholes staring at each other in silence, as Grif was waiting for the other to say something first. "I don't remember giving my DNA to the cloning program."

"Good thing I'm not a clone," he rolled his eyes. "Listen, yes, I am you. No, I'm not a clone, I'm from a different dimension. Now that we've got that out of the way, I kind of need your assistance in repairing cybernetic enhancements on both me and my friend, who is- before you ask because I know you will- a different dimensional version of your Simmons. We good?"

Blinking only once, the other Grif nodded his head and said, "Ok, yeah, what type of repairs am I looking at here."

He wasn't quite surprised at how easily the double accepted the situation, considering that Grif-S15 also reacted in kind, so he got to the root of the problem, "That pulse earlier kind of fucked with my Simmons' cybernetics, and mine as well, and we need those fixed so that we can get the fuck out of this dimension onto the next."

"The EMP affected you guys," Grif-C83 tilted his head in shock before realization flooded in. "Wait, you're from a different dimension right, fuck. The pulse doesn't affect anyone other than androids since cybernetics here are built to withstand the effects. Don't worry, it's easily fixable."

"Great, can you do a house visit like, oh, right now?" Grif asked.

"Sure thing, let me just grab my tools," the other Grif disappeared back into the shop before reappearing with a fortified toolbox. "Lead the way."

Neither of the two men made conversation on the way there, Grif paid more attention to how there were workers diligently fixing up the knocked-down androids.

"They send out the EMP to stop rogue androids," Grif-C83 explained when he caught him staring. "Then when they're safely caught and in custody, they just fix them back up."

Grif figured as much, and the next time the two of them spoke was when Grif-C83 got a good look at Simmons in their apartment.

"Jesus," the double muttered under his breath. "Yeah, this is going to take, hm. About an hour or so."

"Actually, could you work on me first?" Grif already started to take his coat off. "We need to have me open for a quick getaway."

"Fine by me," Grif-C83 placed down a tarp onto one of the beds. "Just lie down on this. I'll get everything restarted for you."

Doing as told, Grif stayed as still as possible as the other version of himself worked on his exoskeleton. Having someone who wasn't a DIME engineer or scientist work on the equipment had him fighting his fight-or-flight instincts since it was a very intimate part of himself. But it was necessary if they didn't want to get caught by any DIME officer.

Grif-C83 worked silently, and before Grif could even mention the black cube also needed fixing the other man was already on it, doing whatever the hell it was that mechanics in this dimension did to reverse an EMP.

"All done," the double told him, and Grif tested it out by summoning only a sliver of dimensional energy into a portal wisp. At seeing that everything was in order, Grif nodded and gestured towards the still downed Simmons.

"Help me get him on the bed," Grif-C83 grunted, moving over to grab at Simmons' legs, hissing when Simmons kicked after his hand grabbed at his right ankle. Grif followed over and hauled Simmons up by holding him under his arms, and the two of them dropped him onto the tarp-covered bed.

Grif wasn't particularly interested in watching the proceedings of the mechanic at work, so instead, he deigned to snoop around the other man's toolbox to observe the tools only after he gathered everything that they owned to be ready to go when Simmons regained all his senses. An object that Grif recognized as this dimensions' communicator was amongst the tools, and in a moment of hilarity he pulled it out to twiddle with it. He  _ did _ say that he was going to collect more Grif's for that joke server he made.

Just as the double said, an hour later Simmons' was up and blinking to refocus his eyes, and then skidded back on the bed when he realized that it was a  _ Grif _ double that had fixed him.

"This is so weird," Grif-C83 murmured, before gathering all of his tools. "Whatever, I work on androids and shit for a living, dimensional travel isn't too farfetched."

Walking over to Simmons' side, Grif nodded his head towards their packed bags to get the message across to his partner. Given the disheartened look on the other man's face, he could tell it was understood. All Grif had to say about their leaving of this dimension was that he wondered who would transcribe over that porn for that old lady.

"Right, well, here's the bill," his double handed over a work tablet.

Simmons took care of it, pulling the right amount of money out of their wallet to pay the man. Grif almost worried that his duplicate would want to stay and chat about who they were, but thankfully he didn't do that because after receiving his money he nodded his head at them and turned around to leave.

Only to be faced with the lack of a door, resulting in him turning around and saying, "Help a guy out would you?"

Considering that Simmons had just gotten his ability to move around and shit back, Grif was the one to let the mechanic out of the suite and into the elevator. When the orb disappeared from view, he helped Simmons up on unsteady feet and told him, "I'll carry our shit for right now, you'd probably fall over if I let you."

Simmons gave him a grateful smile. Then, the two of them left the dimension behind, not wanting to chance getting caught by DIME if they had honed in on their reconnected pins.

Grif also dimly rejoices in avoiding the T-word again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grif thinks that so long as he doesn't think or speak the word _therapy_ it can't touch him as though Simmons isn't ten seconds away from dragging him there himself.
> 
> Also, I snuck in my own pro-AI rhetoric because I wrote an entire essay for one of my AP classes about this three years ago or so. I just think, if we treat robots nicely they _won't_ want to kill us- it is literally that simple.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	25. I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Disorientation** | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man I cut this chapter right under the wire- I was grinding all day doing a 100 Object Illustration assignment (which I'm still not done with yet... can I get an F in the chat?) but I managed to squeeze this out just in time!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; disorientation, minor character death_

What was the phrase? First is the worst, second is the best, and third was the one with the treasure chest? Yeah well whatever the fuck it was, it turned out to be true as all hell. 

The first dimension they ended up in was definitely a hot pile of fucking garbage. Seriously, he doubted even Felix-Z or Locus-X would even take the chance of turning up there and staying, even just to dick around. 

The second dimension could have been so great had they had any defense against the EMP. Had it not knocked out their black cubes and thus revealed their position to DIME in a blip, they would have gladly paid to reinforce their cybernetics and stay there. But it wasn't worth the risk of DIME tracking them down to stay. 

And the third, well. Given the fact that Grif and Simmons were currently on a schooner, he was willing to bet that a treasure chest was somewhere in this dimension. 

Going from a cyberpunk world to one taking place in the eighteen-hundreds was quite the jump. Grif had, at first, been understandably worried about the general bullshit that occurred during this time period- basically,  _ racism. _ Sexism too, and just a bunch of other shitty things, but that had been his main concern. However, it didn't take him long at all to see that this dimension was very,  _ very _ diverse, and that it wasn't a worry that he needed to have. Which meant that his original dimension was shitty in a completely new aspect too.

Personally, Grif didn't care too much that the time period was set way back from when he and Simmons were used to. Honestly, that just meant that in this world, he and Simmons were perhaps some of the smartest motherfucker's around. The two of them could make a shit ton of money if they just, oh say, speed up the process of technological advancement and create some sort of steampunk future. With flying ships- now that would be badass. But alas, Simmons had practically yelled his ear off about why that  _ wasn't _ a good idea, not only because the tools that they were used to weren't invented yet and also because  _ 'that would be plagiarizing Grif!' _

So stuck with the boring and normal paced dimension of W98 it was.

Having been scorned  _ twice _ now by dimension crossing, they held zero hope or aspirations for this new dimension. As far as Grif is concerned, he's here to have a fun time and not a long time. Plus, on the bright side, Simmons would be very hard-pressed to find a genuine therapist practice that wasn't run on rudimentary psychology and treatment. Grif won this round.

Currently, they had boarded a boat going literally anywhere. They seriously didn't care where it would take them, that's how little fucks they gave about this dimension.

Also, they might have been on a pirate ship. At least, not the historical versions of pirates, but more like the movie archetype ones. Which was firstly, cool as hell. One of them gave Grif a Flintlock pistol, which he clipped right next to his neutralizer, fully intending on dumping it whenever they decided this dimension just wouldn't cut it or some bullshit happened that would force them to leave. Secondly, it probably should have concerned the two of them, but considering that they too were on the run from the law and acted outside of it, they had absolutely no place to judge. 

Nice people though, it almost convinced Grif that they were actually in one of those dimensions where fictional works were real. He could just  _ smell _ the family-production corporation influence in the air.

Oh, they were approaching land. That was neat. Not that Grif didn't like spending time at sea, honestly he found the rocking of the ship to be very relaxing, and quickly acclimated to the shifting of the ground, unlike Simmons who was  _ still _ stumbling despite how long they had been on the voyage. The smell of salt amongst the sea breeze was fantastic, and he doubted when the next time he'd get a chance to enjoy something like this would be. Probably never since most dimensions were either focused around a similar time period- usually a moderate between advanced technology and still down to Earth mechanics- or far into the future. Or on a completely different time-based function altogether. It differed really.

When the ship finally docked, they quickly left amongst the sailors- or pirates, considering that they never really  _ asked- _ as the large group made their way into town. It was nearing night time, and the streets were crowded and rowdy with jubilant denizens, some flushed by the heat of the oil lamps nearby or because of the light buzz they had gained from drinking. Neither Grif nor Simmons was interested in milling about that ilk, instead, they were focused on finding somewhere to stay for the night. Truthfully, Grif had a feeling that Simmons was getting bored of this dimension, and if he wanted to up and leave Grif sure as hell wasn't going to argue against the decision.

"We should split up for the moment," Simmons said, looking as though he swallowed a lemon, which really shouldn't be considered a nasty look- citrus and it's very useful vitamin c was important to survive this time period. Avoid scurvy and all that. "Cover as much ground as possible. And considering the technology for an EMP doesn't even exist, we should have no problems communicating with each other."

"Aye, aye captain," Grif smirked, giving the other man a mock salute. Simmons rolled his eyes at the gesture. and turned to start walking down the rows of buildings, searching for something resembling an inn.

Ever the direction follower, Grif turned the other way and milled about, staring at the different store setups and making an eternal map of where everything was. He avoided any large groups, not in the mood to instigate a conversation or a fight if his words were taken wrong, and slowly made his way through the town.

Sometime between reaching the stone wall that wrapped around a small hill that would overlook the bay, Grif started to feel nauseous. Unsteady on his feet, his vision producing slight doubles causing him to shake his head every few seconds. His disorientation got so bad at one point that he stumbled directly into the stone bricks, taking a moment to steady himself before leaning off of it.

Wobbling away from the wall, and placing a hand against his forehead, wondering where the out of nowhere pounding was coming from, he resembled the drunken sailors more than he did a Pilot. Shuffling with a broken gait, he made his way down an alleyway between two buildings, out of sight of people and dark enough that his eyes weren't strained by the light. He needed to figure out what the hell was going on, now, because this? This wasn't natural.

Despite how strong his temples were throbbing, he shut his strained eyes and tried his best to focus. He could hear his heart beating away hidden from sight behind his rib cage and between his lungs, he could hear each breath that he took from his nose, he could even hear the slight high-pitched thrumming sound-

Snapping his eyes open, he dodged to the right, and just narrowly avoided a blast from a neutralizer.

The thrumming sound stopped, and all of his disorientation stopped with it, revealing the culprit behind the sudden attack on his sense.

There, standing proudly in all of their glory, was a high-ranking DEO. And he knew this because of the weapon that had been used against him- a nifty little device called a brain scrambler. It emitted a very centralized frequency that caused all of the symptoms he just experienced to render a Dimensional Criminal prone and undefended against the arrest from an officer. Lower ranked officers weren't permitted to use this weapon because of how much restraint it took to use- do it too soon and you lose the element of surprise, let it go on for too long and the Dimensional Criminal's brain matter would start to leak out of their ears.

Having now been on the receiving end of it, Grif can firmly say that he wishes that whoever made the damn thing would go jump off a cliff and drown.

The DEO looked at Grif with appraisal, probably measuring his threat level by how he was able to recognize what was affecting him and maneuvered out of the way of the blast. Although, Grif didn't know why they even bothered with the neutralizer though, considering that he was able to withstand its effects. Unless that was a brand new neutralizer, with a charge that he had no resistance to. In which case, he  _ definitely _ didn't want to find out what that would feel like.

"Come along quietly," they informed him, and honestly they were being more courteous than Grif himself would have been. "If you tell me the location of your captain, your sentencing will be lighter."

"And if I say no? What then- you gonna double it?" now that he had complete control over his awareness, and his reaction time was no longer impaired, Grif deemed that he deserved the right to act like a smartass.

"Your cooperation would make this much smoother," they completely ignored his comment, readying their neutralizer once more.

Shit, in an alleyway this small, Grif didn't know for how long he could avoid charges from that thing. He got lucky the first time- likely the DEO wasn't attempting to aim seriously since Grif was disorientated to hell and back- he wasn't so sure he'd get lucky again.

Which left him no choice, he reached a hand beneath his coat, going for his clip-

The DEO, noticing the movement, scoffed and said, "Your neutralizer won't do much against-"

_ BANG. _

The DIME officer fell dead to the ground, a bullet right between their eyes. Grif was unsure how wise it was to walk around with a fully loaded pistol, but now he was grateful for it because all he had to do was pull it off the clip, cock it, aim, fire, and presto. One dead DIME bastard, down for the count.

Honestly, what was with people and talking and talking- just shoot your target and be done with it, like Grif had done to that Null back in the strip club so early on in this whole shit show of a chase. Had the DEO just done their job, Grif would have been captured, but nope. They just had to talk.

Walking over to the dead body, Grif's surprised that nobody had come over to investigate yet, but when he heard a distant firing off rounds into the night, he supposed that it was no unusual occurrence. Good thing too, since he's pretty sure he'd get tried and sentenced to jail for the murder of another person.

Squatting down to pick up the neutralizer that the DEO had, he doesn't even recognize the fact that he just murdered someone. In fact, even if he had he likely wouldn't have cared very much. Grif would argue that it was self-defense- which it was- but he could already hear the rebuttals that he didn't  _ have _ to kill them. Oh well, it's not like anybody would care. Certainly not DIME with it's hidden, tucked away morgue.

Blood was pooling beneath the body, and Grif sighed as he nudged it with his foot, murmuring, "What the hell am I supposed to do with you now?"

Looking off into the distance, he thought about the docks, and doesn't waste a second to drag the body up and off of the ground, kicking a nearby bucket full of waste- which was gross, seriously, why was that just there in the alley- over the puddle of blood to disguise it. Summoning a portal, he discreetly makes the exit point an area that had noticed early that was on a platform beneath the docks, next to some rope and things to act as a heavyweight. Tying the body up, and attaching the blocks of stone to it, he kicked it a couple of times to roll it off the platform.

Oh, this was by no means a permanent solution to get rid of the body- DIME would find it eventually when they tracked down the inactive pin signal. It just hid it from denizens that could freak out- or not, what did he know- if they stumbled upon it.

Grif sat down on the docks for a moment to kick his feet back and forth into the water, watching the blood slip off of his boots and mix with the saltwater. When he thought they were clean enough, he got back up and returned to a frustrated Simmons who exclaimed that he couldn't make heads or tails of the town and demanded that they just call it quits and move on already.

Which was all fine and dandy by Grif. Meant he didn't have to explain the encounter either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grif takes two tiny steps forward and then just goes ahead and does one huge ass leap backward. What a bastard character, I love writing DIME Grif so much.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateuscribes (writing)!


	26. If You Thought the Head Trauma Was Bad...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Migraine** | Concussion | Blindness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got only three hours of sleep this morning since I had to pull an all-nighter to finish an assignment, so I'm really if this doesn't make sense.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; migraine_

The fact that it took  _ fifteen _ tries before the two of them found a dimension to settle in pisses Grif off. He's found an apartment quicker than it took to find one- one!- shitty dimension where there wasn't some stupid as fuck quirk or basis that the dimension focused on or one where they were forced to leave because an outside factor forced them out. Once they even turned right around and left before even getting a chance to explore because they saw someone who  _ maybe _ looked like Locus-X, and although it might have just been a duplicate they sure as all hell wasn’t going to take that chance. The Assets would gladly cause problems on purpose if it meant temporarily shifting DIME focus off of them and onto the two former-SEOs.

It was utterly ridiculous.

They only ran into one more dimensional double since- a nervous Simmons that heralded from a dimension that had superpowers and heroes. And advertising. Lots and lots of advertising. The only reason why they even met that particular Simmons- from dimension T19- was that someone saw them portal into the dimension and called the fucking cops on them.  _ Them. _ The former dimensional officers.

And  _ apparently, _ the police forward all calls revolving around criminals towards a TV station because they film it live. Because that's totally safe. Had it not been for the fact that they got found out immediately by the wrong law enforcement, Grif would have surely stuck around to watch a few broadcasts because there's no way a setup like that wouldn't be a complete and utter circus. As it stands, the first 'hero' to the scene was a near-identical mirror to his Simmons- cybernetics and all- with the only difference being, well-

"Holy shit, you're the second Simmons I've seen that was a stripper so far," Grif exclaimed, seeing the skimpily dressed hero jump down into the alleyway.

"W-what?!" and with that comment alone he stopped the hero in his tracks, a deep flush covering his face and limbs- which were visible because, well,  _ scantily clad crime fighter, hello- _ and Simmons-T19 brought his arms up as if to cover up, which, hah, good luck with that. The hero shook his head as if reminding himself that he was answering a call for help, and he braced himself by taking a stance, and announcing, "Uh- stop yourself, villains!"

Looking around, sharing a shrug with his Simmons, Grif turned back to the duplicate and said, "We are stopped."

A pause then, "Oh, well, makes things easier for me then!"

Now, Grif would be willing to bet that it was because the alley was dark and thus shadowed their faces since they were further in because that's the only reason he can think of why Simmons-T19 looked shocked after nearing the two of them. Before that shock turned into a feral sort of hatred that Grif hadn't  _ ever _ seen on Simmons' face and that alone disturbed him because what the fuck could have caused that look to show up- and he was looking at his Simmons.

Cue a misunderstanding.

_ "Gene," _ Simmons-19 hissed before extending his hands with his finger splayed.

The next thing Grif knew, his vision blacking out for just one second, he was being pulled by an unknown force yanking against his spine to throw him against Simmons who was heading towards him by the same force as well, causing the two of them to smack into each other- heads clacking against each other and Grif's exoskeleton digging harshly into Simmons' own back. As soon as the force was gone, Grif had his neutralizer in his hand ready to use it against the hero when it was stolen right out of his grip and landing in Simmons-T19's hands a few feet away, the man having not moved from his spot.

And really, he should have realized that-  _ duh. _ A dimension with superheroes would have people with  _ superpowers. _ And really, it was just their luck that the hero they ended up running into just had to have  _ ferrokinesis. _ Of course, a perfect match up against two dudes that had quite a lot of metal incorporated into their bodies.

Grif's next course of action should have been creating a portal and getting the two of them the fuck out of there since there was no way that they could have been a matchup against this dude. But he couldn't leave- not until he got back his neutralizer. That was his main way of defense, his one way to make the playing field tilt in his favor. He had to dispose of the Flintlock pistol back in W98, because it was firstly, evidence of him killing that DIME officer, and secondly, not a good idea to carry around a firearm when the neutralizer was much more discreet.

There was no way that they could leave without retrieving it.

Which lead to them being chased and then chasing each other around the weirdly built city, as the hero tried to capture them and Grif and Simmons tried grabbing back the neutralizer. The further they moved into the city, the more areas Grif could portal too, steadily increasing his range either giving them enough time to catch their breath or try to sneak around the hero who was ever fucking vigilant, annoyingly so.

The chase ended only when Grif got pissed enough to knock the hero flat on his ass, cradling Simmons-T19's legs between his thighs, a hand pressed tightly against the other man's neck, trying to work past the metal gorget the man had on.

"Relax," he hissed down to the man, who looked like a deer in headlights, and this is perhaps the first time that the other man had actually looked directly at Grif, so focused on his Simmons. "We're not villains, we're not here to cause problems, but if you don't  _ calm down _ this will go on forever."

The hero beneath him didn't say anything for a long while, but when he did speak up he questioned, "Grif?"

"Oh great," Grif turned towards his Captain. "I'm beginning to think that we know each other in pretty much every dimension."

"Wait, wait, dimension?" Simmons-T19's eyes flit between the two of them, before narrowing and asking, "Who the hell are you two?"

"Not criminals, that's all you need to know," and Grif shifted his weight trying to figure out where the other man had clipped his neutralizer. It was buried uncomfortably beneath the trapped hero, so he yanked the other man up by the front part of his costume so that he could reclaim his weapon.

When it didn't look like the other man would get up to attack them again, Grif let him go and walked calmly back to his partner, who had a miffed look on his face, the sweat on his forehead making him look unkempt when compared to his stripper-influenced look alike.

The hero scrambled up, but stayed put, staring after them before looking up towards the night sky twinkling with star lights in the desert, looking for something that might have been aerial camera's if he had to guess.

"You're me from a different dimension?" Simmons-T19 questioned, looking towards the Captain, eyes dancing back towards Grif. "And you're Grif? And you were here for some reason, but not a malicious one?"

"Why do they always catch on so quickly?" Grif questioned with a whine, just glad that he wouldn't have to explain it all himself.

Neither of the Simmons' responded to him, but the hero did look sheepish as he stammered, "I- I may have made a mistake of identity."

And that was that, neither Grif nor Simmons particularly caring to make small talk, although, just because he thought that it would be hilarious and shake things up a bit, Grif connected him to the server for dimensional doubles as well. He hadn't added another Simmons yet.

Just before they left, his Simmons pulled at his arm and said, "Grif, you overexerted yourself using your exoskeleton again."

Shaking off his hands, Grif waved off his concerns by saying, "So? It's not like we're going dimension by dimension every twenty-four hours. I have enough time in-between for it to not be a problem." That was enough for Simmons to let him make another portal so that they could move on.

That dimension was a few crossing in the past, and the one that they had finally settled into was very calm. They ended up in a rural part of whatever country the portal spat them out into, and after managing to stay over a month in that universe with no problems, external or internal, they decided that perhaps this would be the best dimension to officially settle down in. From there, they took some time to find a cabin a little way out from the main town, a nice little plot of land that had neighbors just thirty minutes away. It was secluded but still functional with all the utilities working correctly in tune with the capabilities that most dimensions set in the twenty-first century could manage.

And with the month of quiet, they finally had time to work on a few things. For Simmons, he picked up some textbooks regarding mechanics and human anatomy, working on his cybernetics often when Grif would be just chilling and staring out into the distance, muscles tense and ready to go in case something went wrong. Which it never did, of course. But that just meant that he no longer had any excuse to not go to, ugh,  _ therapy. _

The first session was whatever. He had no strong opinions on his therapist- and they couldn't find a Dr. Grey duplicate in the place where they decided to settle down at, so they would just have to settle with Dr. Sue- and he could recognize that she was trying to help him work through his mindset to get onto a path of healing and learning. Which he didn't  _ fight _ against, no, but he didn't do much beyond what she explicitly told him to do.

He attended every Wednesday from noon to one, and then he spent some time in the time to get away from Simmons' smug and patronizing voice, working himself down from a fit of anger. And when he decided that he was in the clear and ready to face the other man, he would go back to their little cabin and announce that he was actually quite drained from the session and would rather spend the rest of the night in his room resting. To which Simmons would enthusiastically allow because he was oh so happy that Grif was making an attempt at getting better.

And Grif could... begrudgingly agree that what the therapist was drilling into his head made sense. Didn't mean he had to like it though. He was finding that Simmons was getting more and more tolerable, especially when he could recognize that his thoughts were starting to spiral and that  _ perhaps _ thinking that Simmons was always actively lying to him was him...  _ projecting. _

Didn't stop his aggressiveness. His desire to mess with Simmons, pulling along his strings like a puppeteer to just get what he wants in the end. To just-

Well. Simmons was proud of his efforts.

Today was Wednesday, it was a quarter till noon, and Grif could not  _ get out of fucking bed. _

The left side of his temple was throbbing so intensely that he pressed that part of his head hard into his soft pillowcase, hissing between his teeth as he tried to match the pressure to get it to stop hurting. It felt like his skull was splitting  _ fucking open- _

Simmons opened the door to his room, letting the hallway light leek in, further hurting Grif as his eyes burned at the change in light.

"Grif," his voice was soft at first, but when Grif did not respond to him, he spoke louder, "Grif!"

God fucking  _ dammit _ couldn't Simmons see that every time he opened his mouth was like nails getting hammered straight into his eardrums? Surely he wasn't fucking ignorant of how Grif was practically smothering himself just to relieve the pain.

The other man walked further into the room, ignoring Grif's agony as he said, "You need to get up, you're going to miss your appoint-"

_ "Fuck the appointment!" _ he bellowed, fighting against nausea and vomit building in his gut. "I have a migraine the size of the fucking Grand Canyon."

Simmons stared at him in suspicion, biting at his lip before saying, "Grif-"

Snapping out an arm to grab at Simmons' hand, looking up at him desperately, he begged, "Dude, I'm not lying or manipulating or whatever shitty thing I've done in the past, please trust me when I say I can't  _ go." _

Grif must have looked really pathetic, looking up and giving all of the power to Simmons in this scenario. He could already see how Simmons would take advantage of him, laugh at his misery and force him out of bed and  _ make _ him go to the session, that utter bastard-

But that didn't happen. Simmons gently pried off his fingers and lowered his arm back down to the bed before quietly stepping out of the room, closing the door, and hiding the infernal light from his poor eyes. 

Not being one to question this act of mercy, Grif returned back to wishing that he was fucking dead than dealing with this migraine from hell. He wasn't accustomed to pain like this, he rarely if ever got migraines in the past. He had absolutely no idea what brought this on, and it just had to line up with one of his bad days where it felt like his exoskeleton was heating up and burning off the skin on his back. 

He doesn't know when he closed his eyes and drifted off and away from the physical tether of pain, but when he opened his eyes again, the pain in his head was lessened, and there was a bowl of broth on his bedside table, steam wafting up from it and a shaky hand reached over to confirm that it was still hot but not boiling. Next to the bowl was a napkin that held two pills right beside a glass of water, to which Grif eagerly swallowed the pills and downed them with the entire glass of water.

Letting out a sigh of relief, leaning back down against his bed as he stared up at the ceiling.

Simmons didn't have to bring him the pills and the broth. He didn't have to leave him alone, but he did. He didn't have to, he didn't...

Had he not met with Dr. Sue, he might not have recognized the sensation that flooded his chest as fondness, and he doesn't know what to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are familiar with my series [The Second League of Heroes,](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1423381) that was indeed my T&B!AU Simmons! There was even a small hint of what the next chapter will focus on- which I plan to update in November. And yes, the time has come where Grif finally could no longer escape getting some therapy. A win for us and a loss for him.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	27. Ok, Who Had Natural Disasters on Their 2020 Bingo Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earthquake | Extreme Weather | **Power Outage**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have everything planned out for these last four days and when I tell you guys I'm excited for the ending of this story, I mean I'm _excited._
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; power outage, chronic pain, mention of drug abuse (no actual drug abuse)_

His experience in U15 should have been a warning for Grif. But he didn't think anything of it like he was looking out in the distance and seeing someone frantically wave a very small red flag, it just looked like a blurry flash of light. And he should have suspected something with that first debilitating migraine and the rest that followed after it.

But he didn't, because they were common and normal- or so he thought- things that could affect just about any ordinary person. Plenty of people got migraines. Amputees and those with other various wounds that still lingered on their body felt more fatigued, sore, and writhed in pain on cold days. Sure, it was alarming that it was happening to him when it hadn't happened before, but settling down explained that. Staying in one dimension as a civilian was the reason.

Until it wasn't. Until it started happening once a month, then biweekly, then every week, until it felt like nearly everyday Grif could hardly get out of bed whilst simultaneously feeling as though he was just exaggerating his pain because there was no way  _ he _ was getting sidelined by something as stupid and weak as a couple of migraines. And an aching back. And dizziness. And blurred vision. And trembling fingers and memory lapses and-

And the constant and ever-present humming of his exoskeleton as it heated up to unbearable levels.

Simmons was very concerned about this recent development, and for good reason too. They both knew, as so did the other SEO's, about how Wash's exoskeleton exploded on him. The surgery was extensive, and he still carried on the damage from the accident with him, prompting the demotion of high-ranker to SEO AdMIN. Simmons was terrified that this was the precursor to Grif's exploding on him, even though what happened to Wash was spontaneous without any warning. And the exoskeleton's had been updated after that incident, so it shouldn't be that the same was going to happen to Grif.

At first, Grif thought that this was lasting damage from the attack he received from that brain scrambler, and he spent days pissed at that DEO and wishing that he could have killed them in a more gruesome way for leaving him in this condition. He didn't even attempt to stop these thoughts, because they were completely fucking justified no matter what Dr. Sue attempted to persuade him of.

But that couldn't have been it, because that weapon couldn't have affected his exoskeleton, making it overheat and hum constantly. No, this was most definitely a malfunction in the machinery. As for the cause of it, well, Grif would be willing to bet that it was because of how much he used it in the past fucking however long. Twice he had to use it constantly to flit around in one dimension, and then it had been twenty-four hours after twenty-four hours for a long string of different dimensions. There had to have been consequences from overusing the machine like that, and this must have been it.

It could have even been his body reacting to the lack of taking in dimensional energy, and that was a scary thought, scarier than thinking that he might explode at any given second. Because what the fuck was he supposed to do if his body had become  _ accustomed _ to absorbing dimensional energy on a daily basis? That energy was harmful and never meant to course through human veins, unstable in nature would transform a person into an unstable walking time bomb as well. Grif sincerely hoped that this wasn't the case.

Whatever was afflicting him, however, could go fuck off and die. The whole point of getting away from DIME was to have a new chance at a normal life- a fresh start. He couldn't exactly turn over a new leaf if he was drowning in a stream, unable to even get out of bed. Dying like this- if it came down to it, and on some days Grif even welcomed it because that would be better than spending another second with a body that swore endless pain on him- would fucking suck. A boring end to a former Pilot, dead by the thing that was supposed to enable his freedom.

He spent most of his time sitting in the living room, laying down on the couch with an arm thrown over his eyes to block out the light as a quilt lay half on his legs and half on the floor. Simmons usually sat on the armchair, books about the human anatomy on his lap as he frantically read through them. Which, honestly, Grif can't understand why'd he be looking in those for answers, if anything he should have been reading about how to alleviate chronic pain. Or working on getting him some tranquilizers intended for taking out, fucking who knows, an elephant? That seemed to be a strong enough dose to knock him the fuck out of this plane of existence and into the next.

Grif would do anything to just, get high off his rockers on pain medicine. Anything to make his body feel numb and free of discomfort.

But his Captain was... a very huge help to Grif during this whole series of events. Providing him with pain relievers, making sure that the house was quiet on the days where auditory sensitivity was his main issue, among other things.

And he appreciated everything that Simmons was doing for him. He really,  _ really _ did, especially since Simmons wasn't doing this with any other expectation beyond Grif getting better. He was taking care of him because he cared, and he didn't expect a 'thank you' or for Grif to do something in return. It was mind-numbingly baffling, Grif couldn't imagine himself taking the initiative to do the same for someone else if somebody else didn't pressure him into doing so. 

To just care like that- about another person. It confused Grif, it really did. But it was something that he was beginning to understand in other people since he couldn't in himself. So even though it wasn't expected of him, he thanked Simmons for his help, and on the days where he was miraculously pain-free, he did tasks with Simmons. Like helping him out in his personal garden or going into town with him to get groceries. Grif didn't care for any of it, but he held back all of his annoyance because he felt as though he was, what was the phrase? Paying Simmons' kindness back.

Today was one of Grif's better days because when he woke up he didn't immediately feel like dying. Or killing somebody else in retaliation to his agony- a rarer sentiment that he had, but one that he couldn't quite shake yet. He got up out of bed, and tentatively stretched, getting rid of all of the kinks in his back with a sigh of relief. Pressing his palm against his exoskeleton, he tested the temperature and found it to be running on slightly hotter than normal. Which meant that he would have to take a rag and dab at it to try and lower it.

If that was his only problem today then he'd be grateful as all hell.

Going into the kitchen, he grabbed at a clean dishrag and turned on the sink running it under the cold water. He  _ could _ have gone into the shower, but that would have prompted him to take a shower and honestly? Fuck that noise. He'd do it whenever, and whenever certainly wasn’t now.

Simmons walked into the kitchen, eyes firmly trained on a cheap phone that he had bought not too long ago once they really settled down in this dimension. "There might be a storm later."

"Oh," and Grif furrowed his brow confused, wondering why he didn't feel achier before stopping himself and questioning why the fuck he would even want to poke and prod at an undoubtedly good thing. But, now that he thought about it, his calve did ache- the one that had gotten a bullet in it early on. Of course, the DIME made equipment wouldn't follow the rules but the rest of his injuries would. "That sucks."

"I'm going into town now to pick up a few more books," Simmons grabbed at the car keys- another thing that they had purchased, which helped to solidify their permanent stay here. "Do you need anything?"

Wracking his brain, he couldn't think of anything, so he shook his head saying, "Nah. Hurry back though, if it's really going to storm up then you wouldn't want to get stuck in town."

"Yeah, that would be bad," Simmons reached up to tap the back of his neck, confirming that his own black cube was still there- a nervous tick that Grif noticed that the _ both _ of them had developed. "Alright, I better go now. I'll be back."

Raising a hand to lazily wave him off, Grif said, "Later."

And the rest of the mourning was spent catching up on some chores that he hadn't been able to do in a while. Like, clean his bedroom up, making it less of a rats nest and more of a room that a functioning non-ill adult would have. Or as close as to what he peaked and saw in Simmons' room. Putting the laundry into the washing machine, he just relished the feeling of being able to walk around freely.

But, he could hear the oncoming storm, and he walked over to the window to pull back the curtains to see the darkening grey sky and the tumultuous clouds crowding each other. The leaves and branches on the trees began to rustle and shake, creating an irritating background noise.

Letting the curtain fall back into place, he noted that Simmons would have to return soon or he would get caught in the storm.

And as predicted, the rain started to come down hard, in addition to the roaring winds that shook the trees, there was a cacophony of noises so deafening that Grif paid small mercies to the fact that he didn't have a migraine on this day. Simmons still wasn't back yet, and Grif for the first time possibly ever felt a twinge of worry for another person.

The Captain was capable, surely, but driving in this weather wouldn't be intelligent, which probably meant that he would have to take shelter in town. Leaving Grif all alone, which wasn't so much of a problem as a bother.

So absorbed in his thoughts, he didn't notice when the lights started to flicker on and off periodically before everything went dark and silent in the house.

Blinking to adjust to the change in light, and catching that the appliances in the kitchen had their clocks all fucked up, he groaned when he realized that there had been a power outage. The shitty house far away from the town  _ would _ have this happen.

Grif, by no means, had any idea on how to get the power back on. The only place that he had lived at that he had previously considered his own was his apartment, and even then he never had to experience a loss in power. Fixing this in a house that he owned was out of his expertise, and feels like something that a father should have taught him, but considering that Grif was a bastard he lacked in that field.

So he was pretty much stuck in the dark for as long as it took for Simmons to come back.

There was one thing that he could do, actually, and that was finding and pulling out the battery-powered flashlight. Lighting up some candles was also an option if it wasn't for how the smell of melting wax and the heat they emanated sent him into a headache. Not quite migraine level but still frustrating.

When he found the emergency flashlights, right next to an emergency radio, he pulled out one and clicked the button only for it to not turn on. Which probably meant that it was in need of a change of batteries which was such bullshit since they had bought the damn thing not too long ago, how could they be out of batteries already?

Whatever there was a pack of new batteries in the kitchen and he could dispose of the old ones in the cleared out milk jug that they apparently had to use for trashing them according to Simmons. That man had such weird habits, but who was Grif to complain?

Opening one of the drawers, he shifted around for the battery pack, finding them beneath a bunch of other junk like old letters, rubber bands, a notebook, that type of shit.

Taking out the old batteries and dumping them into the aforementioned jug, and slid in the new ones. Now, when he clicked the on-button, the bright light turned on at the same time that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Staring at the bright beam, the storm was still loudly going at it, and he turned around prepared to wander back towards his room when he was greeted by a pearly white and wide grin, looking more akin to an animal baring its teeth at its prey.

And the predator wearing a human mask greeted him with, "Been a while, hasn't it,  _ Halfie?" _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys didn't think I would just leave the Asset's storyline unresolved... did you?
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	28. Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Accidents** | Hunting Season | Mugged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter a lot, and wow man, there are only three more chapters left you guys! Super excited to get to the end.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; accidents, mention of murder_

Grif doesn't know if he should feel much of anything at this moment. Surprise perhaps, after all, this was the worst fucking surprise he's ever had in his entire life. But that's not it. Maybe fear, considering that the two criminals that he had been chasing at the beginning were now standing in the one space he thought he could have gone on to feel safe in. That's not it either.

He feels absolutely nothing as he stares down Felix-Z, and subtly moving his flashlight up he's greeted with the grim sight of Locus-X because why would there be one but not the other? Behind the two of them, he catches the sight of the rift portal stitching back together.

Felix-Z is looking him up and down, appraising him as he says, "You know, I  _ was _ wondering where the two of you went. You both were like an annoying gnat buzzing after the two of us, and we didn't even swat at you before you just- poof! Vanished."

Grif's still trying to cycle through what he could be feeling at the moment. He expected anger- with how much he's lamented in the past about how he wanted to kill the two of them, and his calve throbs at the reminder as to why that was- but he's not even feeling that.

"But here you are, not in uniform, and wow," Felix-Z snakes forward, eyes greedily taking in how Grif's wearing black sweatpants and an orange hoodie, the only remaining part of his uniform being his gloves. Grif steels himself, keeping his hand steady and making sure that the flashlight doesn't dip down or tremble, as Felix-Z walks around him- uncomfortable so in the same kitchen. The man let out a laugh, "Isn't that an ironic twist of fate? You, a Pilot- a  _ SEO-10 _ becoming the very thing you were chasing; a  _ Dimensional Criminal." _

It probably wasn't smart of him, but his first words so far in this interaction were to correct the criminal in front of him by saying, "A Grif-U15 actually."

Felix-Z has a smug look on his face and returned back to stand in front of Locus-X who seems indifferent about the proceedings. But Grif remembers how so long ago, he told Grif without a hint of untruth, that the next time Grif was caught alone by the two of them, he would not be leaving the conversation alive.

"That explains it- found out about your corrupt little organization did you?" Felix-Z picks at his nails absentmindedly.

Grif really wasn't playing this whole thing safe, but he hadn't felt in control of this whole thing since the second he turned around and saw the other man, having felt like the rug was pulled out from right under him, so when he says, "You knew about the pins but not how to use a Key or a Pilot?"

Stupid. Stupid stupid  _ stupid. _ Good idea, really that's just swell, provoking the partner of the maniac who got damn near close to killing him once.

"Can't exactly go around calling yourselves 10's without people pointing out that you're missing a letter," and Felix-Z didn't even sound mad about his snippy comeback, he was more amused than anything else.

He has nothing to say in response to that, but he's sure a few hours from now- if he's still alive- he'll be peeved as all hell that the fucking Assets knew about the memory suppression aspects of the pins and not him.  _ Everyone _ seemed to have known except for him.

The Asset turned back towards his partner, who didn't budge from his spot, eyes being the only moving aspect of his body, and said, "You know, we were planning on leaving this dimension with a few bodies left behind, but I think this will be much more fitting for causing a little mayhem."

Tensing, and he's prepared to launch backward to grab at one of the kitchen knives to have  _ some _ form of defense because if he tried to portal away one of them could follow behind and that was not a good option no matter what because where would he go? Into town? That could potentially kill other people,- and Grif's only slightly shocked that he took them into consideration at all.

But neither of the two men make a move on him, and instead, Felix-Z says, "If you don't mind- and really, you have no say in this so do me a favor and don't mind at all- we're going to holding up here, letting out residue trail soak up your cute little house. Make a nice bright hotspot for DIME to track."

Fuck. Fucking hell. The Assets have killed, destabilized governments, committed terrorism, but to Grif, all that shit paled in comparison to this. And Grif's scared because of how much  _ he doesn't want to have to leave. _ He feels connected to this place, this dimension, and while he wouldn't quite call it loyalty, it's something and it's gross and it's like nothing he's ever felt for a place in his life. If the Assets were to lead DIME right to him and Simmons, that'd be it. They'd be done for.

And he doesn't know if it's for small mercies or some sick power play, but Felix-Z continues and says, "But hey, considering that when you two went AWOL there were two fewer DIME bootlickers on our asses, you deserve at least a little something for that. How about this- I'll let you leave, and you can take one, and only one, thing from here with you. We'll be gone in twenty-four hours of course, but who knows how long DIME will investigate this place. Better make that one object count."

Immediately Grif is scanning the environment, his brain wracking through to think about what could possibly count as incriminating evidence that he and Simmons were the ones who owned this house. They didn't really carry around pictures, so that wasn't a concern. The books were vague enough that they could belong to anybody, as for documents everything they had mailed to them was with a fake alias, so there wasn't anything with either of their real-

_ His medical files. _

Walking slowly, making sure to choreograph his movements so that the two criminals know that he isn't trying to pull a fast one on him, he makes his way towards where they kept their safe. Opening it up, he pushed aside their illegal and fake documentation and grabbed the thick folder. Raising his hand to show that he's chosen his one object, he closes the safe and turns back around to face the two men.

He hates this, he hates this with such a burning passion. This was going to be the biggest gamble Grif's ever made in his entire life because if he were thinking rationally, he and Simmons should be leaving this dimension for a safer one. But he likes it here, and he likes so few things. Even though he had detested it at first, he doesn't want to leave his progress in therapy unfinished. Dr. Sue was good for him, and the evidence lay in the fact that he actively knew that his recklessness and risky nature had consequences for people other than himself, something he couldn't see before. But just because he could recognize it doesn't mean that he can stop himself from thinking,  _ let them win this. Runaway now, and hide from DIME until they leave. _

This could work, he would make this work. They've been here long enough that their dimensional residues were completely submerged by this dimension’s own. His black cube was secured tightly against the back of his neck so that they couldn't be tracked down that way. The only way DIME could possibly track them is if in the time that Felix-Z and Locus-X have been here their residue had drifted off and clung to him, but even then that would be weak. DIME would have no reason to go into town if the Assets were just planning on staying in their home. This was fine, everything would be ok.

"That's your choice?" and Felix-Z sounds like he's holding back a cackle. Grif wondered whether he knew how much incriminating evidence there was in this. If DIME found this that would be it for the two former SEO's. "That's fine by me. You can go now, but ah- no portaling out. Wouldn't be the smart thing to do."

"How do you expect me to leave here then," and Grif doesn't know why he's asking when even  _ he _ agreed that portaling would be a smart idea. In fact, now that he's thinking more on it, using his exoskeleton  _ again _ after so long and after all of the shit that he experienced because of it, that could have consequences.

But then a thunderous boom shattered through the conversation, and Grif was reminded of the fact that there was currently a storm raging outside.

"Walk?" Felix-Z already started to move around like he owned the place, moving objects and generally causing a mess. "Or, use a car if you have one."

Simmons was currently using the car. He would have no choice but to walk. Or, maybe he should chance using a portal just one and then he wouldn't do it ever again, that could work out, right?

"And we're going to be making sure that you don't use a portal once you're outside," and Grif watched as Locus-X steadily gripped that dreaded sniper rifle. "So on you go. Unless you  _ want _ to get caught by DIME."

Getting a rain poncho would count as getting another object. Shoes probably too. That would mean that he would have to leave with everything he currently had on hand. Turning towards the door, he pulled open his hoodie to slip the medical file inside to cradle against his chest. He just hoped that the documents wouldn't get soaked to hell and back, because if they got ruined then it would be a waste of a fucking object when he could have chosen some rain boots instead.

Grabbing the handle, he opened it and stumbled back when the torrent of rain and wind blew it back for him. Already the water was wetting his clothes and splattering onto his face. Bracing himself, he ran outside, rain pelting his face as the wind blew back his hair. This really was the worst day for this shit to happen. Heading down the road that would lead back to town, he looked over his shoulder to see Felix-Z watching with deranged delight as he ran away from the house, and Locus-X posted at the window, sniper rifle ready and raring to shoot him down.

So he ran and ran, and it was at this point where he regretted the decision to get a house pretty far out from town, because unless he made a portal when he was sure he was out of sight of the Assets, it could take an hour or more until he made it back into town and where Simmons was.

He ran for all of twenty minutes before gasping for breath and clutching at his chest at the effort. Having been confined to the house and his room for days on end for weeks on end did a disservice to his stamina levels. As he continued to pant, he stood there getting more and more soaked as he turned around to see if he was anywhere in sight of the house and the Dimensional Criminals.

But with the storm and the raging trees, and the rain dripping down and coalescing on his eyelashes, he couldn't see shit. So hopefully, if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him.

This was a bad idea, but he didn't have any other choice as he activated his exoskeleton and made a portal just outside of the town. That would have to be enough. His exoskeleton whirred and made an angry-sounding noise, akin to when a printer was just about to fuck up before printing an important paper. That wasn't good at all but he powered through it, and he stumbled through the portal, trying to think of where Simmons was supposed to be. The book store, that's why he went into town but was he still there?

He walked through the town, in the middle of this storm, with no other sane and rational people outside, trying to work through his feelings and remember the  _ last _ time he was in this position. Of wandering around trying to find Simmons after encountering the Assets. It was back in that one dimension, with the skyscrapers. 

Except last time, all he could think about was how much he hated Simmons for putting him in that position but now-

"Grif?  _ Grif!" _

Turning around, he saw Simmons running towards him with his umbrella valiantly trying to stave off the knife-like droplets. It was straining against the force of the gales, but he still raced on and ran up to Grif, grabbing him tightly by the shoulders to drag him back towards the bookstore where he had been taking refuge. "What are you doing out here- scratch that,  _ why _ are you here?"

What to say to him? Could he tell the truth- that wouldn't reassure him, not in the slightest. In fact, telling him that they were facing the threat of  _ both _ DIME and the Assets would give the other man a conniption.

"There- there was an accident," and his teeth are chattering now. He feels soaked to the bone so he's not surprised. "The- the power went out."

Simmons pulled him through the doors of the store, and was trying to wrestle off the hoodie, exclaiming, "The power went out? You should have just stayed home- please don't tell me that you used your...  _ you know _ to get here."

"There was an accident," he repeated firmly. "I had to come he-"

Simmons had finally slipped off Grif's hoodie and the slightly wet medical files fell to the floor. The other man stared at them in shock, before looking up at Grif and asking, "Why do you have those?"

"There-" he tried to say but Simmons cut him off with a glare. So he paused and tried to think about what to say. He should tell the truth, he was getting better with- "You're going to get mad. Or upset."

Now Simmons looked panicked, even as he said, "It's ok, whatever it is I won't get mad."

He could do this, he could say this in a way that wouldn't make the other man freak out, all he had to do was say- "The Assets are here, in this dimension. Our house specifically."

Probably not the best way he could have gone about saying that, but at the same time going out and saying it bluntly was the way to go.

The other man paled and his pupils became pinpricks in fright, as he stammered, "The- the Assets? Here? In this dimension?"

"Yes," he was still shaking and he'd like to think it's from the rain.

"We need to leave, now," Simmons grabbed his shoulders before continuing. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry, fuck, you shouldn't be using your exoskeleton anymore, but-"

"We don't have to leave," Grif gripped his Captain's wrists. "So long as we stay away we should be fine. Why don't we go stay at a hotel? Wait for them to leave and for DIME to leave too."

"Grif, that's not safe! It's not worth the risk, we can find another dimension," Simmons pleaded.

"With how long it took to find this one?" why was Simmons so willing to leave? Hadn't that been Grif not too long ago- when had they switched positions. Everything felt unbalanced, he didn't like it.

"If DIME comes after us-" Simmons cut himself off with a choked noise.

"If DIME comes after us we can just kill them!" Grif lowers his voice as he says this, aware that they were in a public place after all. "It's not that hard, I've already killed one DEO I'm sure that I can-"

"What." Simmons' jaw dropped. His eyes searched Grif's face for some sort of clue that he was lying. "When-  _ what?" _

"Back in W98, a DEO came after me and used a brain scrambler against me, it's fine though I killed them and got rid of the body. Considering that no one else has come after us it's all fine," Grif tried to placate.

"You- Grif- that's not," the other man was stumbling trying to find the right words to say. "You can't just kill people, you can't- you can't just not tell me!"

"What's the big deal? Why is this a problem- they used a brain scrambler against me! It was self-defense," he argued.

"That's-" and Simmons stopped himself. "We're going to be talking about this later. This- we can discuss this. When a storm isn't raging outside."

And Simmons stepped away from him, leaving Grif to stand by the doorway, his medical files on the floor without any shoes on. With a storm raging on the outside, invaders in their home, and a looming threat that everything was going to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if... I told you all.. this was the penultimate Grif POV chapter?
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	29. I Think I Need a Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intubation | Emergency Room | **Reluctant Bedrest**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the last Grif POV chapter! Gah, I'm so excited about the last two chapters you guys have no idea!!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; reluctant bedrest, fever, disordered thinking, mention of vomit (no actual vomit)_

Grif doesn't feel good. On multiple accounts even. Now that he's outside of the maelstrom, he feels feverish. He placed the back of one of his clammy hands against his forehead and pulled it back monotonously after confirming that he was starting to burn up. His clothes, and especially his sweats, are absolutely soaked, his socks too, but he can't really do much about any of it because he's in public at the moment.

Emotionally he feels drained. Strung out, much like how he wished he could wring the water out of his clothes at the moment, except it was all on a mental level. He felt tired physically yes, but the weight of his actions practically smothered his body until it was hard to breathe. Or he was still pained from having to run in the middle of a storm. Whatever it was, he didn't like it. He wanted to peel back his skin and find what exactly it was that was making him feel this way.

Why was Simmons mad at him? He didn't do anything wrong. Could he be at fault for killing that DEO? Why? They were going to capture him, and Simmons too, and bring them back to DIME where they would just die themselves and get stuck in that secluded and forgotten morgue. He was defending himself. He wasn't at fault.

He couldn't even talk to Dr. Sue about this- if they even stayed in this dimension. Simmons seemed resolute that they would have to leave. Grif didn't understand that either. So long as they stayed away from home for a few days, it would be fine. DIME didn't have any reason to stick around a random ass dimension if they weren't given a reason, and Grif held the only reason why tightly in his hands as his fingernails dug tightly into the water-soaked papers.

What would he even tell her, if he did try to bring this up in their next session? That they were runaway officers, that he killed someone and _still_ didn't feel bad about it? That he actually felt like he had somewhere to stay, with someone worth staying with, and now- and _now he would have to leave._ And that he wanted to rage, to get his way because that's worked in the past. Snap his foot down on someone's fingers and they wouldn't drop their pencil near him anymore. Beating a child's face in so that they wouldn't lay another harmful finger on his sister’s head again. And it worked, each time it worked, and there were consequences, but he got what he wanted- however briefly- didn't he?

But now he couldn't even bring himself to raise a hand in anger, to go and find Simmons wherever he was staying away from him, saying and doing things to _make_ him stay. Because he couldn't claim ignorance for his actions anymore. And he'd been doing good catching himself. If he acted out, Dr. Sue and Simmons would be disappointed in him. And, fucking hell, some part of him cared about Simmons- as much as he could care about another person.

Grif was sick. There was a disgustingly thick glob of _something_ pooling in his gut and closing up his throat. But he wasn't crying- Grif didn't even think he could cry. His eyes were dry, but so was his mouth as all the salvia disappeared to _somewhere_ making it even harder to swallow and clear his throat.

He sat down at some point. Probably it would have been more accurate to say that he had collapsed against the walls of the shop at some point. He had just gone to lean his back against the wall, to stabilize himself, but his feet slipped out from under him and he slid down until he couldn't hold himself up anymore.

Everything was going to shit. _Everything._

Flipping at the damp pages of his medical file, he occupies his time by staring at the cohesive record of why exactly DIME wanted him. How much of a fuck up he was. And he thought he could be different too. Wasn't that funny? All these negative thoughts, this icky feeling crushing his chest, just more proof of how much of a selfish bastard he was. If he actually cared about how his actions affected others, he would realize that Simmons was right. Of course, they couldn't stay here anymore. It was practically asking for DIME to snatch them up, torture them probably, just to find out what they knew. What they told, who they told it to.

Right, he was resolved now. Whenever the storm let up, and they could be sure that the Assets had left, they could leave themselves. Grif didn't know where Simmons kept his neutralizer, but his was tucked inside of his sweatpants, not wanting it out in the open in their house but not going without it. He got lucky that Felix-Z didn't demand that he hand that over when he was forced to leave.

Just thinking about using his exoskeleton made the damn thing whirr even more, the noise sounding loud in his ears, and he just hopes that no one else can use it. Really, the thing was more trouble than it was worth. If it exploded on him here and now, then that would be just swell. Taking out himself and whoever was in the vicinity in this bookstore.

He resolves to close his eyes for just a moment. Nothing more than a moment. But as he leans his head back against the cool wall, and his eyes flutter to a close, he can see a hurried figure hurrying over to him.

He's out like a light, and he doesn't dream. That wasn't something that he's ever really done. He always assumed that he just wasn't imaginative enough for it, and he used to be thankful. Who knows what he could think up in his mind when there was no filter holding back his more intrusive thoughts. But he only ever dreams of nothing. Well, at least this time he can sorta feel imprints of what's going on with his body as he drifts off, feeling someone navigate him to lay down on the floor instead of propped up against the wall. The touches are faint but soft and gentle, and it helps lull him further into the recesses of his mind as he lets his fever consume him.

When he wakes up next, his vision not really clearing up, there's Simmons looming over him with a concerned look on his face, as he muttered, "Stupid, _stupid._ Why did I leave him alone- he needs to get warm and out of those wet clothes."

The other man doesn't really seem to notice that he's awake and staring at him. Not that Grif could respond much, his tongue felt like lead. Something that he does notice, however, is that it seems lighter in the bookstore, whereas it had been dampened by the stormy atmosphere outside. Straining all his attention towards the outside, he could hear the storm letting up. The rain has calmed and was now settling into a small drizzle, the winds having been equally tamed and no longer rattling everything bolted down and whisking away those that were not.

Simmons tugged harshly at his own lip, as he stared out of the window that Grif could not currently see. If he had to haggard a guess as to what the other man was thinking about, he would bet his Captain was considering their options. Where to go, how to get Grif help. Now that the storm was clearing, they wouldn't have to take shelter for much longer. But they couldn't go home.

They weren't close to anyone in town, much too secretive for that. And besides, they wouldn't have any good reason for taking shelter in someone else's home. Grif's flimsy excuse that there had been an accident wouldn't explain needing to be away from just a day or two. Plus, Grif knew he wasn't feeling too hot at the moment, and Simmons couldn't impose his sick Pilot on an unsuspecting denizen.

Looking down, Simmons sees that he's awake, but he can probably tell that Grif isn't quite coherent at the moment.

His Captain helped to get him into a sitting position, where he immediately hunched over and tried to keep his head up. Hefting him up and throwing one of his arms across Simmons' shoulders, the other man helps him walk towards where Simmons had parked the car. Opening the door with great difficulty, Simmons gently lowers him into the passenger seat and closes the door. Walking over to the other side of the car, he enters the driver’s seat and closes the door behind him, resting his hands over the steering wheel before sighing and letting his head rest against it. He stays in this position for multiple seconds before resolutely looking back up with determination and putting the key in the ignition.

Grif throat feels thick and scratchy, but he manages to warble out, "Where are we going?"

Glancing to him from the corner of his eyes, Simmons keeps his voice to a minimum as he says, "That inn next to that diner we were planning on going to soon. I'll- I'm going to tell them that we had a leak problem, and are waiting for the repairman to fix it before going back. Need some time to assess the water damage or some shit."

He's already nodding back off to the abyss of unconsciousness so he doesn't give much of a response. The thrumming of the car as it drives helps to soothe him back asleep, and he wakes up just as it starts to pull to a stop in front of the inn. He doesn't feel much better, in fact, he feels almost worst, and he's certain that Simmons can hear the angry murmuring from his exoskeleton, given the looks that he throws his way.

It takes great effort between him and Simmons to make their way into the inn and explain their situation to the young receptionist, who understands and gets them a room with little to no fanfare.

Simmons drags him to the room and pushes him onto the bed, helping to wrangle him out of his still damp sweats and undershirt. It's when he's rolling off his socks that Grif says, "I can- I can make a portal and we can leave. We can leave when it's safe to do so."

The stricken look that he gives Grif confuses him because wasn't that just what he was scolding Grif about? Could he not even do that right- reading his partner enough to give him what he wants? Simmons wanted to leave, Grif was actively trying to better himself and take others into consideration but now not even that was right.

"Grif, I- no I don't care about that right now," Simmons was helping him get underneath the covers of the bed.

Letting the other man move him around like a limp doll, Grif tries to get his thoughts in order, "So later-"

"No," Simmons says firmly. "I was cross with you earlier but- that was mean of me. I'm sorry. You're right. We've been here long enough that there's no way for them to find us. Not really. We can stay."

Grif is shocked that the other man came around, but he's shaking and holding back the feeling of just throwing up over the side of the bed, so he doesn't say anything. Resting on his back is uncomfortable, so he shifts to lay on his side, which is probably a smart thing to do considering that if he throws up at least this way he won't choke to death on his vomit. He'd rather not be resting in the bed, but he knows this is for his own good, otherwise, why would Simmons subject him to this? With the blanket over his body, it feels like a furnace, but it must be for a reason otherwise it wouldn't have been necessary. So he reluctantly stayed put and tried his best to imagine the pain shifting down and out through his body, something that Dr. Sue mentioned to him as a way to trick his mind into minimizing pain.

Simmons moves around the small inn and makes a displeased noise, before telling him in a voice a step above a whisper that he'll be out for a few minutes but will be back soon. Grif's too busy trying not to whimper in pain to even hear him.

He must be really out of it, because as far as he can tell, Simmons told him that and then appeared a second later holding a bag from a pharmacy that Grif can only vaguely recognize. There's clinking in the kitchenette, and Grif can hear the sound of a kettle going off in a blur of noises. Then there's a cup of herbal tea entering his field of vision, and Simmons is helping him up so that he can drink it. Grif misses it completely, but the other man gives a displeased look at his back.

As Grif drinks the tea, that Simmons must have made with a drizzle of honey in it, he's so sure of this, he realizes dimly that Simmons... he really cares about him. And Grif he-

"I'm sorry that I killed the DEO," he apologizes, thinking that it's something Simmons would want him to say.

His Captain just stares at him before shaking his head and saying, "No. No, you're not."

He stares down at his tea. He can see the residual leaves and bits at the bottom. Grif doesn't bring it back up to his lips, just absorbing the heat into his hands.

"No," he admits, shaking his head. "I'm not."

Looking up at Simmons through his eyelashes, he wonders how he must look to the other man. Miserable, surely. A mess of a human being without a doubt. Look at him, he couldn't even feel bad for killing someone. And he probably wouldn't ever.

Simmons looks to the side, before reaching out to grab at one of his hands, giving it a tight squeeze. "I'm not going to say it's ok, because it's not. But I'm not going to press the issue. What's the point of getting mad at each other when we're all we got?"

He gets up and leaves Grif to drink his tea on the bed. There's only one bed in the room, so Simmons- after making Grif take some medicine to help his fever go down, which took a strip applied to his forehead to confirm that he did have one- rests on the couch. Looking more tired than he's ever had before.

Grif's places his mug on the nightstand and rests the back of his head against the headboard. He can just feel it, the way that his mind is starting to unravel, trying to maintain a semblance of control. Grif reviews his actions, tries to figure out what he could have done to avoid this whole mess. Was fighting even an option? That DEO proved that he couldn't rely on his neutralizer for everything, it was only because he had that pistol on hand that he made it out of that confrontation alive. Would a real weapon have helped against the Assets? Probably not, but so long as the two former SEO's didn't provoke them, they wouldn't actively seek them out so it wasn't even a problem.

The only possible threat, going forward, was DIME. Always DIME- they always had to antagonize them. But their agents could fall at a weapon easily, they weren't like the Assets- an almost impenetrable mountain with decades of experience killing and destroying. They were fallible. They could die, and Simmons wouldn't like it, but he just said that going forward it wasn't a problem, and did that mean he was angrier at Grif for not telling him in the first place? That was easily solvable, Grif would just inform him right away if he got rid of any DIME threats the minute he did so.

In his delirium, he pulls himself out of the bed and heads towards the kitchenette and makes an angry and displeased sounding noise. He didn't know what he expected from the inn, but blunt butter knives weren't exactly what he was expecting to find.

No matter, Grif would just resolve to carry around a hunting knife going forward. It was discreet, and he could hide it under his pillow. He wouldn't be caught undefended again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose to end Grif's POV here because it acts as a good full circle to the last time that Grif seriously faced off against the Assets. There he came to the conclusion that everything was Simmons' fault and then started to treat him with hostility. But now his opinion has completely flipped. From here on out, you guys will no longer have an insight into what Grif is thinking.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	30. Now Where Did That Come From?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Wound Reveal** | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter but this is exactly where I wanted to cut it off before leading into the final chapter. Gah, I'm so excited for you guys to see the ending!!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> _TW; wound reveal, illness, bodily fluids (discharge)_

It's hard for Simmons to be honest with himself. After everything he'd been taught as a child, all of the lessons ingrained in him about being not being honest and not being dishonest most of all, there are things that he just cannot confront. He lives in denial, having somewhere blended the line of acting that way to others and acting that way with himself. And now?

Now he's trying so very hard not to collapse as everything comes crashing down.

It was nice. So very nice and wonderful and- and everything he had ever wanted as a child, all the expectations of what he thought his life could have been like, living here in this dimension with Grif. They had a nice home, and they were roommates, and the people in town recognized Simmons' face- kind of hard not to because of the metal- and they said 'hi' to him when he entered their stores. Even though they were distant and held a mostly private life, the two former SEOs were apart of the community.

But the Assets just had to come in and fuck everything up.

Well, perhaps that's not exactly fair. Things had been pretty bad for a while before. With Grif. Not Grif himself- in fact, Simmons has never been more proud of another person in his entire life. 

He's not sure why he fell for the other man. Sometimes he hardly understands his emotions, but he knows that he cares deeply for Grif and had for a while. The Pilot's personality endeared him, and he had bulldozed through all of Grif's flaws because sometimes they would have quiet moments back at DIME. Moments where he really thought Grif was laying himself bare in front of Simmons. And finding out about his ASPD didn't really change Simmons' opinion of him, recontextualized all of his actions, yes. Made him realize that Grif needed help, with no strings attached, absolutely. But it wasn't like Grif was a different person, wasn't like this changed anything about him, he'd always been like this.

And watching Grif get better, because of all of his sessions with Dr. Sue. It's fantastic. Simmons is genuinely happy for him.

The exoskeleton put a wedge into their future. It was a foreboding knowledge that Simmons had, ever since that first migraine. He knew, or at least he had a feeling. Because he hadn't been reading those anatomy books for himself. No, this entire time he'd been reading them because the first time Grif overused his exoskeleton, Simmons had been confronted with the fact that he knew practically nothing about the machinery. And he didn't like not knowing everything that pertained to him and the people that he cared about.

That was why he picked up Grif's medical file that first time. Sure, stumbling upon the mental evaluation was by complete happenstance but a good thing, nonetheless, since Grif would have continued on untreated without that confrontation. But that wasn't why he was snooping through it. He was reading all of the notes and records about the surgery. And from that little knowledge, when he went back to M17, he raided his father's study. Went through his books and notes trying to see if anything would help.

All he got instead was an incomprehensible mess of manic and unethical notes and ideas on how to further experiment on humans. Definitely, none of it was useful. Which meant that he would have to go and learn and figure it all himself.

And then the first migraine. It made him wary, and then when another one happened not too long after, he studiously and rampantly went back to his studies. Of course, he told none of this to Grif, and Grif assumed it was for himself, and because he was never addressed directly he never corrected the assumption-  _ not honest and especially not dishonest. _

And it wasn't manageable. But it could have been something that Grif could live with. So long as he didn't use his exoskeleton anymore.

Then the Assets came. And Grif had to use his exoskeleton again. And he had to run through a storm, with no shoes and no raincoat or even an umbrella, for how long? Simmons didn't even know that much.

They weren't safe here, that much was clear. They had to leave, but that would require Grif using his exoskeleton, and that would be detrimental to his health but they couldn't stay-

And then- and then Grif just had to dump the fact that he killed a DEO and didn't tell Simmons! That wasn't ok! And of course, Grif didn't understand why, and how is Simmons supposed to be useful and help him if Grif doesn't confide in him?

He regrets leaving him there to calm himself down. Because when he returned, Grif had passed out against the wall, and Simmons he- he had been so  _ scared. _

Simmons had been too tough on him. And Grif wasn't being unreasonable, if they played it safe, they could continue to stay here. It would just- just be one week away from home. They could monitor those who were crossing into this dimension from afar, wait a bit, and then go home. Hopefully, the house wouldn't be in an utter state of disarray because of the Assets. They didn't own anything particularly expense so it would be easy to replace if so.

And Grif deserved at least this, for all of his hard work and after everything he'd been through. So Simmons resolved that they could stay, and he helped Grif into the car and into the inn and he had just been so tired that he passed out on the couch himself.

Waking up, he realized that he should have stayed up to take care of Grif. And so he immediately goes to do that, checking to see if his fever had gone down- it hadn't- and he went to get a wet rag to press against his forehead.

Then, he decided to turn Grif around to wet at the skin near his exoskeleton, as it would undoubtedly be sore and rare, but when he pushed the man over he was horrified by the sight. It- it was-

As he expected, the skin nearby the metal was irritated and puffy looking. But there was a white discharge leaking between the creases, and it was most certainly emanating from the exoskeleton itself. Panicked, he brought the rag towards his spine to clear away at the secretion, having no doubt that it was probably full of bacteria and hopefully wasn't a sign of some sort of infection. But as he cleared it away, it became increasingly more clear that it had been hiding something very concerning from sight.

Grif had yellow-green lines running from his exoskeleton across his back resembling Lichtenberg scars. Simmons' hand shook as it hovered over the scars, wondering what the fuck this was. His fingers recognized an unbearable heat generating from the exoskeleton and being spread out through these lines.

Could- could this be-

No that wasn't possible. There's no way Grif would be alive if- if. If this was dimensional energy  _ poisoning. _

But the more that he thought about it. The more that he knew it had to be true. Because there could be no other logical or rational explanation for those scars. And it explained everything, didn't it? Grif's decline in health, the way that using his exoskeleton all of a sudden had started to hurt him despite having it for how long? It wasn't safe to absorb dimensional energy directly, it would kill a person. And yet, how much had Grif absorbed consistently in such a short amount of time.

The horror of this revelation was overshadowed at the fact that something about it still didn't sit right with him. The exoskeleton was warm, almost like it was in use. But that was impossible, especially with Grif unconscious as he was at the moment. But what could be causing this exhaustion otherwise?

This wasn't something that Simmons could answer on his own. He couldn't understand something as intricate as this.

But there was someone who could.

And that's why he turned to that ridiculous server that Grif put together. Really, it was one of Grif's less thought out ideas, spurred on by nothing else but enjoyment from how idiotic the idea itself was. But it could be useful to him now, and the fact that it was actually luck that the EMP took the both of them out then so that they would have met Grif-C83, dawns upon Simmons.

That seems to be a reoccurring thing with Simmons. He was lucky to have survived the car crash, lucky to have his father experiment on him thus protecting him from the pin suppression, lucky to have been incapacitated by the pulse so that he would now have access to someone who could understand a Pilot exoskeleton more than he ever could. Luck. It was all pure luck.

He sends over the documents to Grif-C83, hoping that now that he has schematics and notes about the support item, he would be able to understand it. Point out its  _ flaws. _ Show Simmons what the problem was and how to fix it. Because he would have to do this all on his own, they couldn't drag anybody else into this.

While he waited for the duplicate's response, he took care of Grif as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Helped in change into a loose-fitting change of clothes, so that he would at least have something to wear. Made him food that he could keep down. Lowered the fever until it was gone and all that was left was fatigue. And the poisoning.

Simmons didn't tell Grif about that, he didn't want to worry the other man. And if Grif himself wasn't aware of it by now, then Simmons could very well go by and fix the problem before he even found out. Dismissively he realized that by withholding this information, he was being hypocritical. But whereas Grif hid that he committed murder from him, Simmons was trying not to frighten the Pilot. Simmons was ever not honest and not dishonest either, so long as he wasn't directly asked something, he didn't have to say a word.

When he finally got an answer back, the situation became even more horrific to him. There was so much that Grif-C83 reported back to him about, but his throat closed up and he couldn't swallow despite the build-up of saliva in his mouth, and he felt his brain positively stop at what he was reading.

He had no time at all, he needed a solution now. Figure out what was wrong, fix it. Save Grif.

Because Grif-C83 had delivered one final death sentence, telling Simmons as plainly as he could, that if his Grif used his exoskeleton one more time,  _ he would die. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here are Simmons' thoughts about what happened in the last chapter and a bit of leading into tomorrow's final chapter. There are still more things to be revealed, but well, that's for the next chapter...
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	31. Today's Special: Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Experiment | Whipped | **Left for Dead**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone!! And here's the last chapter, and wow, I can't believe I did another completionist run two-years in a row! I have no clue how I managed to do it again, I'm being completely real with you all. Well, without further ado, here's the final chapter to DIME and Place!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own!
> 
> _TW; left for dead, stabbing_

After waiting a week and a half, they were finally able to return to their home, with Simmons having deemed it safe enough to do so. By then, Grif had actually gotten much better with his fever gone and not seemingly having any pains because of that damned exoskeleton. Of course, Grif was still slightly out of it, a bit more dazed Simmons thought, but he was able to walk on his own and make minimal conversation.

They didn't linger at all in the town and got in their car to head straight home. The road there was a slight mess, with leaves and branches littering it, but thankfully no trees had fallen down during the storm. Even if one had, Simmons was sure that by this point, the town would have sent someone to get rid of it. But the drive led to a building of anticipation and fear in Simmons' gut. It would be unreasonable for anyone to have stuck around this long in this dimension- neither the Assets nor any DEO's- due to the fact that the whole mission to catch the criminals was extremely time-sensitive.

Simmons just couldn't shake the paranoia away though.

Of course, he was also worried about what the state of the house might be like. He's sure that it wouldn't be too terrible- unless the Assets had decided to burn it down because  _ fuck it, why not, _ then they would be in a bit of a pickle- and everything broken could be replaced. It just didn't sit right with him that their home got invaded and they were able to do absolutely nothing about it.

Pulling up to the driveway, Simmons is relieved that at the very least, the house was still there and standing. The door was left open, however, and the thought that wild animals could have gotten inside practically has him springing up and out of the car. Grif followed behind him at a much more relaxed- or was it sluggish?- pace.

The good news was that there were no animals inside the house. The bad news was-

"Damn, they really fucked this place up," Grif looked over his shoulder at the absolutely catastrophic mess that the Assets had left the place. Which, perhaps, was more Simmons exaggerating than anything else. There wasn't any integral damage to the place, but papers were littered everywhere and all of his books were scattered haphazardly amongst the floor. This would be such a pain to have to clean up, Simmons literally could not fathom as to  _ why _ they did this. Probably to be an even bigger annoyance than usual.

Grif wandered further into the house, not even attempting to avoid the papers and just stepping on them leaving muddy boot prints on them. Sighing, Simmons set about picking them all up and just checking to make sure that they weren't important documents. Most of it was actually their mail, opened and thrown around, which made Simmons' eye twitch at the fact that while being massive assholes the Assets  _ still _ managed to commit a federal crime of some sort.

At least it was all junk mail, which meant that Simmons could easily discard it in the kitchen, where Grif currently was.

Suspecting that Grif had been checking out the fridge, he asked, "Did they take anything from in there too?"

Looking over his shoulder at him, Grif scrunched up his nose and made a disgusted face. Opening the door a crack, Simmons got exactly why he would have that look as he covered his nose and mouth to prevent himself from retching at the revolting smell.

"The power did go out and we weren't home for like, two weeks," Grif closed the door to the fridge, and Simmons lamented the fact that  _ he _ was going to be the one to have to clear it out and clean it up. Although, with Grif's current weaker stomach, making him do it wasn't as good an idea either.

Simmons set out to clear the floor first, stacking books on top of each other for the moment so that he could review them later to find out what order to place them back on the bookshelf. Grif joined him briefly, but given the way he tilted to the side as he knelt down, Simmons suspected that he wouldn't be able to be active for much longer. And sure enough, after thirty minutes of standing and kneeling to collect all of the books, Grif looked faint, and was swallowing harshly a few times but wasn't saying anything.

A concoction of sympathy and pity roiled in Simmons' gut, so he quickly told him, "You can go lie down. I can handle the rest of this."

"Are you sure?" Grif asked although relief flooded his body.

Nodding, Simmons shoed him off, not saying anything more to address the moment of weakness in his Pilot. Hopefully, the Assets had the decency to not wreak havoc upon their personal rooms, but considering that Grif didn't make any sound of distress or dismay, he figured that they were nice enough about that.

Which left the Captain to fix everything up himself. Which was fine, it gave him a lot of time to reflect and think about what the hell he was going to do next.

Mainly, he was waiting for a solution presented by Grif-C83. So far, all the duplicate had managed to do was scare the absolute shit out of Simmons with that whole,  _ 'use the exoskeleton one more time and he'll die' _ business. The timeline of a solution was so pushed ahead that he felt like they were in crunch time for it. And Simmons felt fairly confident that he could perform surgery if needed- well, with specific coaxing and instructions from the mechanic double.

Later, when he's scrubbing out the fridge, he gets a long and lengthy report from said double. He stops everything that he's doing to read it, to see exactly what would be needed of him to do.

His stomach practically drops at what he's reading, and he didn't think his heart and stopped nearly as long as when the first bad news he was presented.

Grif-C83 had come up with  _ two _ different solutions. The first, was an intensive surgery that he said that Simmons would have no possible way of doing himself and that if he wanted his Grif to come out alive at the end of it, then he would need to confide in another person- preferably a surgeon- in this dimension to get rid of the damn exoskeleton. Simmons was far too inexperienced, and cocky if he went through with it himself, and that his pride would be the final killing blow to his Pilot.

This was not ideal for multiple reasons. The first being that Simmons did not feel comfortable placing Grif's life in anyone's hands other than his own. And that would require explaining  _ everything _ to whoever performed the surgery- a whole team of doctors even since something like this did not feel as though it could be a one-man job. Too many uncontrollable factors and people that Simmons didn't have enough time to vet whether or not they were trustworthy.

The second solution presented was what made Simmons choke on his own spit and be consumed with guilt.

According to Grif-C83, his Grif's exoskeleton model  _ shouldn't _ be causing all these problems. In fact, there had to be some sort of outside influence at hand, because all things considered the problems of the first model that Wash had were fixed in this one. Of course, he said that overdoing it would certainly cause dimensional poisoning. But not to this level that was being displayed in the Pilot.

_ 'It's like there's something blocking the flow of the energy out of the body,' _ Grif-C83 had sent him.  _ 'The energy should flush out of his system. But it's not. There's a build-up happening somewhere and that's what's keeping it all inside of the exoskeleton, causing it to over-perform to get rid of it, but all that's doing is pushing it out into his body directly. Is there any chance that the part that regulates the exoskeleton is broken?' _

Simmons' hand started to shake, and he was consumed with the thought that this was  _ all his fault. _

He wanted to blame it on a faulty centralizer, but he knew- he  _ knew _ that that wasn't the case.

A pin in a Captain does nothing but suppress memories. A pin in a Pilot does the same but also  _ helps direct the exoskeleton. _

He hadn't- he hadn't considered how his cubes would affect Grif on a wider scale. He didn't intend for this to happen at all! That block that Grif-C83 mentioned was the box, no doubt in Simmons' mind. It was the thing responsible for the build-up of dimensional energy and causing the exoskeleton to stay active even when Grif wasn't using it.

And he couldn't fix this. Grif-C83 claimed that if he could find out what was causing the blockage, and remove or fix whatever it was, then the energy would gradually dissipate from the body now that it was no longer trapped. Grif's symptoms might become harsher, in a manner similar to going cold-turkey in an addict. But he would live, just after a month or so of grueling side effects.

Simmons has experience dealing with someone with a genuine addiction- and does that mean he is also lucky for that week of taking care of his mother? It means he's prepared to save Grif this way.

But that would require getting rid of the black cube, and they  _ can't. _ Not without leaving this dimension- which he already promised that they could stay to Grif, and he wasn't honest but he wasn't actively a liar!- or...

Or removing and destroying the pin flat out.

The Captain is brought back into a memory of Grif tackling and then straddling him in that hotel when Simmons had first revealed the truth behind the pins. At how he had clenched tightly at his left hand and demanded he produce a scalpel so that he could cut the pin out of his neck that very moment.

Looking down at his hand, Simmons comes to the conclusion that he couldn't perform an intensive surgery, but a pin wasn't like that. It lay just below the skin at the base of the neck. Removing it would- it would be easy and he could do it. And if he did it quick enough, the signal would be destroyed before it even showed up on DIME's radar.

That's it- that was the solution to all of this. They could get rid of the exoskeleton at a later date, when Grif was healthier and when Simmons could do the surgery on his own.

But when to do this, and whether or not to tell Grif. If he tried to explain his plan that could require him to tell the truth about how Grif was practically dying, and Simmons can just see the other man getting so incredibly mad at him. No, that wouldn't do in the slightest.

He would figure this out, they trusted each other, and Simmons was sure that Grif's trust in him would save him.

The matter of finding the right moment to do this, came later that night when Grif was more well-rested and able to assist with the house. Which wasn't altogether necessary considering that Simmons had handled that pretty much all on his own. The only thing that he hadn't gotten up to was putting the books back on the bookshelf.

Before making a move, Simmons took a moment to admire the other man. He looked sickly- which was expected of someone being poisoned like that, but despite this, he held himself with his head high. Simmons always thought that Grif looked so sure of himself, so confident in his abilities, and now he realizes that it was less confidence and more indifference at everybody else and what they might have to say about him, but it inspired him nonetheless. He didn't consider himself a particularly brave person, never able to stick up for himself or for others. In the brief moments of self-assuredness that he's had, he always went back to cowering and holding himself smaller. To look weaker in the eyes of others, even while his mind might be racing and yelling at him to retaliate.

He's confronted by the fact that he really loves Grif, and he suspects that the other man was beginning to care about him too, perhaps not  _ for _ him, but enough that he certainly tolerated his continued presence, maybe even enjoyed it too. If he could just live long enough without the exoskeleton, then they could continue coexisting in such a manner together.

He had to do this now, while his mind was set on it, and he had enough pluck to make the move.

Simmons controls his steps to make them as silent and unworried as possible, as Grif stares down at one of the discarded books. He's coming from the front of Grif, and the other man notices his approaching presence and looks up at him. Simmons reaches behind him, leaning his weight to envelope Grif's own form, as his left-hand shifts one of the fingers into a scalpel, his other hand ready to take away the black cube to get at the pin. From an outsider’s perspective, it might have looked like Simmons was going in for a kiss, and maybe in a different circumstance, he would have. His eyes even flicker down to Grif's lips for just a moment before returning to maintain eye contact. Grif looks so very confused at what Simmons was doing, and he wonders if Grif was thinking the same thing he did, but Simmons doesn't let that stop him as he reaches for the black box.

Just as his fingers brush against it, ignoring the way that his cold fingers accidentally touched Grif's skin briefly, he goes to remove i-

A sharp pain blossoms in his gut, and he stumbled backward as the hand that was reaching for the cube clutches at his side, turning wet and warm. Looking down he sees blood seep through his clothes, and stain his hand. He trips over a stack of books and clashes violently against the ground, head slamming against the wooden floorboards. He sees stars for all of a minute before his hazy vision refocuses on Grif's hysteric face.

Grif threw the knife to the side so that he could clutch at the back of his neck and at Simmons' shirt at the same time, exclaiming, "What the fuck was that for?"

The Pilot looked down to see Simmons' hand had changed, but swiftly ignored it as he demands, "Why were you trying to get rid of the box? What were you planning?"

Simmons tries to speak- to defend himself,  _ to explain _ but he can only manage to gurgle out blood at the moment. That- that wasn't good in the slightest. He-

False realization flooded through Grif's eyes, as he accused, "You were going to leave me for DIME, weren't you?"

He shook his head, but it only seemed like it was lulling to the side.

"Why would you do that," Grif's eyes were wide, and Simmons wasn't sure if the other man knew that his eyes were leaking tears, giving him a manic look. Simmons- Simmons can't recall seeing Grif cry before- "Was everything all a trick? You were manipulating me- I knew it.  _ I knew it!" _

No, no he wasn't, Simmons wasn't intending that at all-

The tears continued to stream down the other man's face, as he stumbled away from Simmons. "You-  _ you. _ You're good, you know that? You really are. I bet you made up everything about me being a sociopath too. You did, didn't you? That's very smart of you to do, Simmons. You had me convinced for the longest time. You're a good actor you should be proud."

Simmons' own eyes were leaking tears because he  _ fucked everything up. _ This- this was a meltdown far worse than when Grif had learned about his memories. This- in one action Simmons had completely unhinged Grif's entire mental state. All of the progress, all of the hard work, and Simmons ruined it in one action of misinterpreted betrayal.

His hearing is going out, slightly distorting Grif's continued ranting, but he can hear his blood pumping and he knows that it's pouring out of his body, and he can hear his heart hammering, and he can hear chirping-

Simmons knows that his heart hasn't stopped, because then he would be dead, but it's a damn near thing when he hears the chirping, the humming, the whirr as Grif-

"D-ngh," he tries to say,  _ don't. Please Grif don't use it, _ but his throat is clogged up with ichor.

Grif either ignores his pathetic gargling or just doesn't care, continuing to power up the exoskeleton, and jagged wisps of yellow-green secreting like toxin from his body.

They start to flicker and glitch at the same time that the exoskeleton begins to spark and produce shocks. A hissing sound erases all other noises in Simmons' ears, and what's left of his sense of smell happily tells him that skin and possible cloth are burning. The crackle of electricity started off demur, before crackling loudly, shaking Grif's entire frame until it produces one loud  _ bang! _

And Grif collapses to his knees, still twitching with remaining currents and his back letting off thick plumes of smoke. He tilts to the side, falling down that last extra bit. Dead.

Simmons' lips wobble, and he wants to pull harshly down on them and bite them for ever daring to open his mouth and saying  _ anything. _ If he just hadn't spoken up about the pins, they would never have gotten in this mess in the first place. Why did he think that he could make a difference? Why did he think, that out of all of his luck in the past, it wouldn't run out like a dry well?

No one will find their bodies. Not for a while at least. A few continuous unpaid bills might attract attention, or maybe one of the neighbors would come over to check if anything was alright. But that would take too long, and their bodies- who knew what state they might be in when the time comes?

And if their bodies are found, they would think that Grif committed a murder-suicide. They wouldn't understand the exoskeleton, but they could confuse it for a bomb. Whatever questions they might have about the machine would be shadowed by the fact that it was by his hands that Simmons died.

He couldn't allow that. It wasn't Grif's fault, Simmons should have been- he should have just said what he was doing, should have known that any concern about his health could take a seat for the bigger picture.

And it wouldn't be lying, by taking off his own black cube, letting his pin signal ring free into the multiverse. And it wouldn't be telling the truth, either, because the only two people who would have any idea of what happened- the history between the Captain and his Pilot, well, they would be long dead, wouldn't they? Grif was already gone, and Simmons was left behind to join him.

Everything, all of this, was for absolutely nothing. And when Simmons' vision finally goes dark, and his heart comes to a stop in his chest, the last thing he thinks as he leaves dimension J87, is that he should have gone in for a kiss after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original run-through of the outline, Grif and Simmons were going to stick with DIME until the very end when _DIME_ would leave them for dead. This outline got a near-complete overhaul once I finished finalizing how Grif-U15 and Simmons-M17 were different from their canon selves. Both of them dying was always in the plans for this AU. If you may be wondering as to why I revoked Grif's POV from you all, it's because this whole time you guys have seen exactly how his disordered thinking affects him and his actions, the way that he makes leaps and jumps to incriminate other's actions, and here where arguable it was the most pivotal to understand what he's thinking _you don't get it._
> 
> The Kiss of Judas foreshadowing is both literal and visual. The visual is, of course, the way that Simmons reaches around Grif trying to get to his pin, and the literal is that Simmons- in this case- looked as though he were betraying Grif to bring the DIME officers down upon him (a parallel to the Roman soldiers who arrested Jesus). As for the Death of Socrates foreshadowing, Socrates was killed because he refused to renounce his teachings. Simmons ended up dying because he had to tell Grif the secret of the pins. Had he never revealed that, he would be alive. So he was killed for his knowledge like Socrates himself was as well.
> 
> This is by far the most ambitious thing I have ever written, and I am still in shock that I managed to get this all done in a month. A month! With updating twice every day too! That's crazy to me! And, I've written over 100,000+ words in a single month too, which is half of what I average in a _year._
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you're curious as to the meanings behind the dimensional designations, I just posted a directory key over on my Tumblr [here.](https://agent-murica.tumblr.com/post/633509488611262464/dimensional-designation-key-grif-10grif-u15-the) As always, if you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


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